


Flesh And Bones

by asgardianthot



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Sam Wilson Feels, Sam Wilson is So Done, Serious Injuries, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, soulmates bond through pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:35:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21662278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asgardianthot/pseuds/asgardianthot
Summary: in a world where people bond with their soulmates through physical pain, living in the same compound makes the search much easier (or it should, if they weren't so damn stubborn)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tumblr series (asgardianthot) and was told to post it here as well! this is for all of you sambucky trash stans like me x
> 
> TW for self-inflicted injuries  
> I will put trigger warnings on the notes for each chapter

Pain is such human extravaganza.

For your body to react to certain dangers or stimulations that trigger specific nervous patterns, that's something most living creatures are built with. We are but machines; when you lay your hand over fire and it hurts, your nervous system is alerting the rest of your body of harm and yelling at it to get away from said harm, similar to how old hair dryers would stop functioning when they overheated to prevent explosions.

That, we have a general idea of. Pain is natural and not a construct.

But _suffering_. Aching from love, or the lack of it... nobody does it better than humans. Super-humans included. Enhanced, hyper-trained, whatever. The pain parade of romance is something so deeply rooted into the dumbest parts of our brains, that _that_ must be the reason behind soulmates.

The point is, it is only logical for such a cruel universe to bond love and pain so tightly.

It's simple, really. Sometime in the speck of dust of time in which we live, a person will get injured. They'll bump their toe on a kitchen counter, fall on their butts, cut their finger while chopping vegetables, or maybe get into a chaotic car accident. No matter the damage, when the universe decides that hurt idiot is your hurt idiot, you'll feel their pain on your own skin. It also didn't matter if you knew the person or not, only _chances were_ your soulmate was a complete stranger.

At first it comes like a tingle, a small pinch or even the ghost sensation of a scratch. But if your soulmate is nearer than they should without you realizing who they are, the sensation becomes full and the closer they are the more vivid their pain feels on your own skin. It is extremely uncertain, however, if it has to do with spatial proximity, or emotional.

Sam Wilson would eventually sit on the park, after his morning jog, or afternoon jog, and contemplate people. He enjoyed the easiness, the memory of a time before the army, when his life was simple. No PTSD, no Avenging. To be fair, the Avenger life was the cure to the PTSD somehow, for Sam Wilson was a man of action and the more quiet his life was, the more his mind wandered. He loved the agitation, the missions, the feeling of helping people, yet every once in a while, or once a day even, he would simply sit and watch the futility of civilian's walks around the park.

A woman sat next to him and didn't offer any sign of kindness. She seemed busy -occupied- in the way that she moved and looked around, which is why he didn't look at her any longer so she wouldn't feel uncomfortable. However, he then began getting the feeling that she was keeping an eye on him, and when he glanced at her nervous hands, he noticed the poor woman holding a needle to her skin, poking her own hand a few times.

A desperate soul.

On one side of a binary coin, some people don’t believe in soulmates. They aren't the easiest to spot, and when a couple like that is seen, there is no proof for a simple skeptical individual that they actually felt each other's pain. There were studies proving the neuronal effects, and were those hard to execute, but not everyone fell for them. Some argued that it was psychological placebo, that the person forced themselves to feel their lover's feelings, some accused the studies to be biased or false. Some were old and hadn't found one so why would they believe soulmates were real? They're not necessary. You don't just love the person you'll want to spend the rest of your life with, and them alone, there's all kinds of love and affection. Then, well... some were simply bitter, covering up their fear of never finding one for themselves.

On the polar opposite, there were the _desperate_ ones. They would inflict harm on themselves in public spaces, expecting a reaction from the passersby.

More than once had Sam seen a man stab their own leg or cut through their palm yelling 'can anybody feel this?' as if they feared this was their only shot, forcing the Falcon to run and make them stop hurting themselves along with other civilians. Some couldn't wait. And Sam never understood why someone wouldn't be able to enjoy life if they didn't know their one and only; It made dating much more relaxed and fun and honest. Perhaps that person would eventually become your soulmate, and even though the probabilities of that happening were slim to none, it didn't need to ruin every romantic relationship in your life.

Therefore with pain in his chest, he addressed the young woman whose eyes were directly analyzing Sam's hand.

"Hey, Lady?" he asked her, earning a big pair of hopeful eyes to find his; yet he had to give her a sad frown to let her know he wasn't who she was looking for, thus gaining a mimicking disappointed look, "It's not worth all this trouble."

Her expression quickly turned into one of distance, like she was trying to protect herself from people who didn't understand her. She sat back and allowed a smirk to take over her face as she stared into nothingness.

"You're one of those people who think it's all a hoax? A construct?" she asked; obtaining no reply, she kept pressuring the Falcon. "Placebo effect? Self-conditioning?"

Sam didn't give in. He simply took a big breath and sat up from the bench. When he turned to face her, her eyes weren't as distant.

"No." He said calmly, "I think yours will come when it's time. Until then," he raised his eyebrows a bit, "you're just hurting yourself for no reason."

Sam walked away before he could see the young woman's lower lip tremble.

-

"I didn't eat your cereal." Bucky protested, plopped on the couch that faced a flat screen.

Sam, however, wasn't buying it. He held his ground, one hand on his hip and the other agitating the skimpy remains inside the carton box, making it rattle.

"It's empty." He insisted, in a way that screamed paranoia over being accused of overreacting or being crazy.

Instead of acting in an opposite behavior, he gave Bucky all the more reason to treat him as if he were going insane.

"Well, it wasn't me." The soldier replied easily, not flipping through the channels anymore but surrendering to a local news one; after a sigh, he looked at the accusator, "Maybe Steve did it."

Sam pursed his lips before turning to Steve with a dead look on his face.

"Steve, did you eat my cereal?" he asked condescendingly, already knowing the answer to be no.

As a matter of fact, the blonde's shirt had small dark spots where he sweat his morning jog on, his hair was still perfect for a regular person but a bit disheveled for Captain America's inhuman standards, and he was focused on drinking from a water bottle.

He tilted his head to Sam, who nodded, more agreeing with himself than with Rogers.

"You're the only one who stays on the couch all morning." He braked back at Barnes.

He didn't respond this time, perhaps because he was, once again, being accused of being lazy and not using his time nor his gifts wisely. Perhaps because he was just tired of saying he didn't eat the cereals in question when he had _undoubtedly and decisively_ eaten the cereals in question.

Paying attention to the random local news he'd landed on, he got the gist of what the reporter was saying. They were presenting a quirky story of a bitter man suing his soulmate. He claimed the only reason he got into a car accident was because he felt a sudden sharp pain in his foot and got distracted, and therefore, was asking for his soulmate to pay off the insurance money. Of course they had to find the soulmate who was allegedly responsible for the crash.

"That's ridiculous." Bucky mocked.

Sam sat next to him, already having dropped the subject of the missing cereals. He listened to the reporter interviewing the odd man and let an amused but very quickly evaporated smile.

"People have been pulling stunts like these for ages, you can't be surprised."

Barnes glanced at him for a second, then returning to the TV. He still thought it was the stupidest reason to sue he'd ever heard of.

"It's insane." He said anyways.

"I think it's sad." Sam derailed the commentary on an opposite direction, "Can't be fun starting your lifelong love story through a lawsuit."

Steve joined the conversation from behind the couch, "I'm pretty sure it's just a way of getting their attention. You know, find them whatever it takes. It's actually kind of romantic."

Bucky scoffed. He couldn't stop Steve from being such a hopeless romantic and blindly believe in fairy tales where there was none, but he could still be annoyed by the fact.

"A little convenient, isn't it?" he raised an eyebrow in judgement, yet not turning around to face the blonde.

"What?" Sam shot defiantly, "You don't believe in this stuff?"

They both knew he was referring to the soulmates paraphernalia. With his glum attitude and dark observations, Barnes did seem like the kind of people to discard the idea of a _soulmate_. Love that never changes, souls that bond... it did not sound like James Buchanan Barnes' cup of tea. "Not the whole part." He admitted. "I think there's a lot of bullshit to it."

The smirk grew on Wilson's face, "So you're one of those wacko conspirationists?"

"What if I am?" Bucky shot back, just to mess with him.

He wasn't though, or not when it came to soulmates, at least. NASA and the government, on the other hand? The man had seen too much inside Hydra to _not_ believe any crazy theory to be possible. He dropped the subject and became more serious, shrugging a little.

"All I'm saying is there's lots of rules and conditions, I mean, who makes the calls?" Bucky questioned, almost angry, "Who chooses everyone's partners? And what if you hate your soulmate?"

"That's the point." Steve intervened with his bright optimism, "You won't. They're your other half."

Bucky pursed his lips and picked up the remote to switch channels again, "Sounds real dumb."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky realizes something

Bucky covered his torso with a jacket before leaving. He was all covered. Always covered. It was too hot outside for his current attire, but he didn't want to take the gloves off.

He didn't want people to recognize his identity either. He had gone online more than once to google himself, see what people thought; some viewed him as a reformed criminal who deserved forgiveness, some as a victim of Hydra, some didn't forgive at all. They talked about him as an example of the re-vindication initiative, the whole 'giving bad guys a second chance' deal; he was the posterboy for it, apparently. He knew he didn't feel like a criminal, not deep in his soul, but it was hard to remember you were a casualty in the hands of your puppetmasters and not a formerly evil assassin when the world kept calling you that.

Walking down the busy upper New York street, he avoided people's gaze as he headed to the donut place. He'd set his mind on something sweet and figured he might as well get some for Steve or Wanda too.

When all of a sudden, an odd feeling on his hipbone hit him in one wave, like he'd hit himself with the metal hand on accident -it happened sometimes- but it was his right hip, and therefore, out of the metal's reach. The minimal pain got a lot bigger too fast, shockingly enough to stop in the middle of the sideway, between a crowd of people, and it wasn't that bad, but definitely bad enough to bruise. It felt, specifically, like he hit himself on a door handle.

A shot of hot panic rushed through his veins and muscles. It felt... like someone else's pain. Before he could touch the particular spot on his hipbone, the pain faded away, just at the right moment it would, had he hit himself with a door handle and massaged it soothingly, probably cursing at himself for being clumsy.

The most terrifying part was having those specific thoughts. It made perfect sense to imagine someone else's actions and movements through the fantasy pain, almost as if...

"Shit." He mumbled, eyes wide.

He speed-walked back to the tower, able to notice the passersby looking at him. Recognizing him. During his panicking escapade, he reflected on the idea that maybe he should have a car; almost everyone else on the team did. Steve was the only moron who drove a motorcycle around in broad daylight with nothing but a baseball hat to 'conceal his identity'. Well, him _and Bucky_.

Once inside, he rushed to get his glove off and press his thumb on the elevator scanning device. It felt like ages until the door finally opened, the whole time keeping his eyes shut tight in an attempt to ease himself, just wanting to lock himself in his room for a full day; yet when he sprinted out of the elevator, his body collided with someone else's.

"Hey, where are you rushing?" Wanda laughed awkwardly after the impact.

Barnes looked around, confused as to his surroundings, and noticed he had merely jumped out to the wrong floor and there were still two stories left until he could reach his room, the button with his number still a bright yellow.

"Nowhere." He walked back to the elevator, swallowing hard, "Sorry."

Wanda frowned but offered him an amused smile as she pressed the button corresponding to the conference room.

"Well, walk with me." She offered, "Stark called for a meeting."

"I wasn't paged." Bucky protested.

Not being paged on the emergency beeper meant it wasn't, in fact, an emergency and therefore, had he gone through with his initial plan and walked into that donut place, he would have missed the meeting and it wouldn't have mattered. Which was all the more reason to want to skip it and head directly towards his bed where he could process what had happened outside.

Wanda rolled her eyes, still amused, "Do you ever work? Let's go."

-

Sitting on the large conference table, Bucky couldn't focus on whatever the convention of superheroes were rambling on about. He felt bad for a second, over his lack of enthusiasm, and for thinking of the discussion as plain _rambling_ , considering how avenging missions usually had a taste of life or death. He was also probably the most grateful individual of them all when it came to appreciating his spot in the team; they –technically, Stark– gave him a nice place at the tower, privacy, leisure zones, the possibility of a home cooked meal, all the fight gadgets he could ask for –not that he actually did ask for any– and most importantly, a purpose. Being a recognized Avenger provided him with re-vindication, stability, or at least as such stability as Bucky Barnes could ever have, and that alone made him feel incredibly bad about not paying attention to the meeting.

There were three factor that could have been keeping him out: first of all, he knew this wasn't an emergency, it had been stated and if it were, he would have gotten called personally, which indicated he was merely lending an ear. Second, the way the situation was discussed wasn't much too professional; it sounded like a battle of egos was going down at the meeting table, their superhero personas oozing off of their skin like they had something to prove. All in lighthearted comedy, but still, Bucky seemed to be the only one _not about that hero life_. That's what Sam swore too, and both of them had seen forehand what a true war tainted with flags could do to a so-called-hero, but when it came to flaunting their egos, Sam loved it. Bucky rather... shrunk.

The third possible reason: he had just felt a soulmate bond on his hip. His own skin. James Buchanan Barnes, yoked to another human being. It was terrifying, and way above anything the team was discussing on his priority list. The third reason it was.

"The pickup's at eleven pm." Steve repeated some piece of information somebody, apparently, had glossed over.

Meanwhile, Barnes continued trying to figure out why the _thing_ hurt so bad and so immediately. Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of tingle at first? Like a distant feeling? Why did it feel like he was being violently snapped into the reality of his situation?

As he wandered around that thought, he considered that his soulmate -his brain was loathing the word- might have been too close. Too close on the street? Did he bump into someone? He didn't think so, keeping in mind how careful he was to not get in people's way. Of course, there could be the option of the person being someone from the tower. As in, someone from the team. Yet, who could possibly match with him?

Who, in that room of complex yet confident creatures could be a good pair according to the bloody dictatorial universe?

His eyes darted to the person sitting next to him. Natasha. They did have a shared history, they could have similar souls... Bucky shook the idea of actually taking the whole 'soul footprint' bullshit seriously. And as though Romanoff was a logical assumption, he didn't quite feel anything. It didn't sit right, but then again, his soulmate could be right there and he wouldn't even know.

He then focused on Steve. It made sense. They were best friends since forever, they had an unparalleled bond. But it wasn't right. Somehow, his chest didn't heave, his skin didn't crawl, nothing _happened_. It just felt like it wasn't Rogers.

He continued his search through zoned-out eyes. Tony was standing in front of a hologram screen acting like the professor and mocking Rhodey about whatever he might have found funny. He didn't live in the tower, but he was there. However, before he could even start overthinking how messed up would the universe be if it were to join them, Bucky soon remembered Tony already had a soulmate, and he was very open about it, to the extents of annoying everyone around him, and it was Pepper.

"Barnes, you with us?" Natasha snapped him back from his deep thoughts.

"Yeah." He shook his head, "Sorry."

Steve had a mildly concerned gaze locked towards Barnes, but the latter ignored it, therefore so did Steve. The blonde continued with his partially amused lecture regarding the mission details.

"Like I said, only one person goes in the perimeter." He repeated himself as if he were teaching toddlers, "One person in, one out, backup stays outside of the radio."

"It's Rhodey's turn to backup." Stark mocked, some lame inside joke evident in their faces, "No hero protagonism for him."

Steve appeared to be growing tired, but he managed to still find the childish exchanges rather amusing.

"Should be an easy in." The Captain insisted with his tone, later raising his eyebrows and laying back on his chair, "I'd do it myself, but I thought you guys wanted to work for a living."

Sam rolled his eyes, "You just wanna be lazy, 's all." He barked with a smirk, "I'll do it. Piece of cake."

"You'll be in and out in a jiff." Tony nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is originally a tumblr series. In case you're lurking here and have one o those, @ asgardianthot


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam realizes something

The night was as quiet as one could expect when a part of the team was in an overnight mission. The clock ticked and so their time moved forward, while the heroes at Avengers tower went to bed knowing the hour in which their roommates had to come back. That was the reason why some didn’t get a good night sleep in those situations; they feared they would wake up in the morning to bad news.

Bucky set his course to the kitchen to appease his grumbling stomach. He would probably end up eating someone else’s treat and getting yelled at for it, but his need for a midnight snack was worth it. Inside the common kitchen, he opened the fridge, the cold air hitting his arms where his short sleeves ended as he lurked for something good.

Before he could find any non-deserved food, the familiar tingle crawled under his skin. First on his shoulder, then on his stomach. He shut the fridge and took a step back, taking in the sensation.

He sighed and held himself on the counter.

“Hell, not again.” He mumbled to himself.

All of a sudden, powerful pain on his stomach caused him to bend over. He pressed his hand against the spot, yet before he could adjust to the ache, another hit reached his back. A suffering moan escaped his mouth, and his legs failed, letting him fall to the tiled floor.

There wasn’t enough time to process what kind of hurting it was, what it meant; it wasn’t like before, when he could guess his soulmate had probably collided against a doorknob. This time, it was so unbearable and overwhelming, he didn’t get a single clue. Whenever he would try to stand up, he would feel more pain on his ribs, his cheek, his knees. Eventually, he also sensed it on his knuckles, but it wasn’t as bad.

Bucky tried to keep quiet, forcing himself to refrain from screaming. He groaned and breathed through his nose and open his mouth in agony before shutting it tight, pressing his lps together. He was more than grateful to the universe when the agony felt more distant, the aching diminished a little. Only then, he was able to weakly lift himself by reaching the counter and, with nauseas from the numbing pain, he stood in front of the sink. It was too pristine to puke on, but it rose across his esophagus until he was throwing up all over the silver sink, the suffering leaving his body, as it didn’t comprehend what had just happened.

His body didn’t, but Bucky did. Who could be near him, and gotten his ass beaten at that very moment? Who was in danger that very instant?

It was Sam. He knew it was.

The realization made him even dizzier, and with his trembling arms keeping him up, he threw up some more from the shock.

A voice broke into the room.

"Buck?" he heard Steve, loud and clear.

He turned around and fell to the floor, resting his head against the marble counter and later cleaning his face with the bottom hems of his shirt. He was panting, and sweating, and Steve examined him from the other end of the kitchen. The blonde eyebrows bent in a frown, concerned plastered all over his features.

"Hey, hey, you alright?" the Captain rushed to help his friend.

However, Bucky rejected his hand.

"Yeah.” He faked a weak smile and spoke airily, “Just... sick. Ate some bad donuts."

Steve stared at him for a few seconds, not convinced. Bucky didn’t look sick, he looked like he was in pain. But he knew he wouldn’t get the truth out just like that. Uncertain, the blonde placed his hands over his waist and stepped back to give Bucky some room.

"You sure?" he checked again.

Barnes felt the nauseas rising up his throat, but breathed them down, "Yep."

That definitely didn’t change Steve’s mind. But he left him alone, knowing how stubborn Bucky could be sometimes, and simply nodded. He stuck around for mere seconds and when Bucky’s eyes darted to the floor, Rogers turned on his heels.

"Hey, uhm...” Barnes called before the man left, “anyone monitoring Wilson's comms?"

The one thing he could worry about right now, was to ensure Sam’s safety. He was so badly hurt, there had to be some sort of rescue. He would deal with the whole soulmate thing later.

"I think Romanoff's on it." Steve replied with a nod, "Why?"

The brunette looked up at him, then to the window. He couldn’t face the man within the eye and lie so much, but he didn’t feel like he had another option.

"He got an escape route?" he asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

"As usual.” The blonde frowned, “But _why_?"

Rogers wasn’t as dumb as the joked played him out to be. Bucky sounded far too suspicious; just like he would if he knew something about the mission, something no one else did. If that were the case, Steve needed to know.

"Nothing, I just... always think the worst possible outcome." Bucky lied.

-

The pain washed away after a couple of minutes, leaving a small remain of aching muscles and bones, but not bad enough to walk and sit. He went to bed and tried to sleep, barely catching a few hours of non-consecutive rest. In the morning, he found out Sam had been ambushed and badly injured. Natasha rescued him and had flown him back to the tower during the night, all bruised up and with gunshots inside him.

He had also broken a rib, which Bucky thought would be the hardest to heal. He could feel it when he sat on his bed first thing in the morning. All of that information was provided to him by Rhodey, whom he met in the elevator. Apparently, they had brought Sam in in a frenzy, every awake person running back and forth to get him to the nursing room. That was where Bucky was headed.

The glass doors opened, letting Bucky through to a very stable-looking Sam. Bruce was reapplying his bandages while the injured man sat on a high bed; he was shirtless, which allowed Barnes to admire every bruise and cut. Luckily, anything worse was covered in white gauze.

"Hey, peeper." Sam’s voice rang as he caught the soldier at the door.

Bucky took a few steps forward, "I heard you almost died last night." He exaggerated.

Sam smiled at the comment, and eyed his own body which was nowhere near having escaped a near-death experience. Just a hell of a beating. It only then hit Bucky how many Sam smiles he had wasted not appreciating them; the gap-toothed grin lit the entire room in less than a second.

"That's a good story for a legend." He nodded amusingly.

"He's fine.” Banner cut the joke short, “Should be fully recovering in just weeks."

"Like a phoenix.” Sam raised his chin, still on the bit.

After receiving no witty reply, his eyes searched for Bucky. They were used to messing around like that, so it wasn’t common for the ex-spy to remain so silent. As a matter of fact, Sam noticed the man looked rather worried, which caused him some confusion. He didn’t think he had ever been stared at by Barnes with those kind of eyes. He shook off his own concern and decided to say something to ease Bucky.

“I'm too tough to get killed." He added like it was nothing, yet intending to get his co-worker to stop with those eyes.

Successfully, he got himself a half smile from Bucky’s part.

"Still, I know a thing or two about broken ribs, so, uhm... take it easy." Barnes hesitated.

Sam accepted the tip and went back to his usual bothering self. He nodded and when Bruce was done with the bandages, he stepped down the bed with a groan.

"Unlike you, I actually have a sense of self-preservation.” Sam raised an eyebrow, “I'll be alright."

Bucky was left to swallow hard and blink the shock away, "Right." he sighed.

Sam was right. Bucky was known to be pretty bad at caring about himself, physically and emotionally. A man doesn’t go brainwashed and tortured for half a century without gaining some sequels. He sucked at healing his own wounds, because nobody healed those at Hydra. He failed to process his own emotions, for they had been electrocuted out of him. He pushed things down until he drowned them down his throat, nauseatingly.

But most importantly, he was so prone to hurt himself, never intentionally, but never minding too much either. If he could feel Sam’s pain, perhaps Sam already felt his. Probably not, but Bucky obviated when that would start occurring. The only thing he knew was that he needed to keep Sam in the dark about it. He had to be careful not to get hurt.

That night, he went down to the training gym, just like he did every night. The rest of the Avengers were usually making jokes about Bucky never training, but nobody knew he did it after midnight, after 2am sometimes, when his mind couldn’t sleep. When he needed to clear his head. He got the punching bag ready and began boxing it out, discharging his strength against it until he got lost in the movements.

-

In the comfort of his bed, Sam felt something. He stood up straight, carefully, in order to not lose focus on the sensation. He examined his hand, specifically his knuckles; for a few nights, he had been feeling an odd sense of tingling on them. He couldn’t ignore it anymore. He checked the digital clock on his nightstand, which read 1:55am.

“What the…?” the words left his mouth in awe.

He knew what this was. Somehow, he had the feeling it was someone else’s knuckles.

-

The following morning, Bucky sat at the couch as usual, his stomach satisfied with the breakfast meal he had just gulped down. Sam and Steve were still on the kitchen space, near the fridge, while Bucky watched nonsense television. Naturally, the two men thought Bucky never paid attention to their morning conversations. However the topic had the soldier’s ears as attentive as they’d ever been.

"So, I think I might... maybe... _have a soulmate_." Sam let out, uncertain.

Bucky’s muscles stiffened.

Steve frowned and set down the bottle of orange juice he was currently holding, "You mean right now? You felt something?"

Sam swallowed and nodded, "Something, yeah. It's not exactly- well, it's more-"

"Are you sure you're not overthinking it?” Rogers interrupted the illogical babbling whit his eyes squinting, “You know, after we talked about it?"

"No, man, I know what I felt." Sam shook his head.

Steve was suddenly more interested than shocked. His face turned into one of pure curiosity as he picked the bottle back and opened the cap.

"What was it?" he asked.

"Like... a tingle in my knuckles.” Wilson explained, his eyes lost in his difficulty of finding the right words, “But you know... like some slight pain. I've been feeling it every night."

 _He can feel me training_ , Bucky thought, and panicked. He could feel his flesh hand sweating; he pretended to keep his eyes on the television while he heard how Sam talked about him without even being aware of it.

"Your soulmate's out picking on fights every night?" Rogers mocked him.

" _Dude_."

"I'm sorry." The blonde laughed and took a sip of the orange juice; he licked his lips and darted back to seriousness, "What's it feel like? Someone else's pain?"

Sam looked down at his feet and reflected on it. It was so odd to admit to it, even more to describe it. Meanwhile, Bucky shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to rush out of there, he didn’t want to pry on that conversation. It wasn’t his right, and he didn’t want to think about it. He wished he could pretend he didn’t have a soulmate, but he knew that wasn’t possible, especially having breakfast three feet from each other.

"Exactly like that.” The Falcon breathed out, and then looked back up at his friend, “Like it's not mine."

A knot formed itself on Bucky’s throat, and he almost involuntarily cleared it. He regretted making that sound immediately, and nervously shifted in the leather seat. Both Steve and Sam turned to look at him.

“Go ahead, say I'm crazy.” Sam spat, getting ready for the comments he thought would come from Barnes, “I'm waiting."

"I didn't say shit." Bucky shot back, defensive.

The soldier stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving question marks all over the place and on his friends’ faces.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: sort of a self-harm trigger warning but not like... really... no one gets physicaly harmed

Sam’s body healed faster than expected, but lacking the super-healing factor some of his teammates were blessed with, he was stuck at the tower for over a week. Bucky had chosen to ignore the common spaces at the tower as much as possible, since Sam spent way too much time over there and he didn’t want to run into the six feet of unspoken truth. His nervousness skyrocketed whenever he saw Sam, and the feeling of horror increased with the passing of every minute of the day. Eventually, he would have to come clean. Just not yet.

Laying on his bed and watching garbage television, he sensed a presence staring at him. When he turned to check his open door, Steve had planted himself right outside.

“I’m off to a meeting.” He told Bucky instead of a proper greeting, “Wanna come with me?”

He was all suited up in Captain American gear, which Bucky had grown sort of used to. However it never ceased to amuse him how he never put on a goddamn tux to go to the office like normal people. After scanning the serious blonde man, Barnes tuned back into whatever the TV was broadcasting, although not paying real attention to it.

“Maybe next time.” he said with a warm tone.

There was a hearable sigh, maybe a little too forced, and Barnes had to return his attention to his friend. He had a feeling he was about to get a good ol’ Mr. Righteous lecture.

“Listen, Buck…” Steve started, yet never stepping into the room in order to not invade his privacy, “I need to talk to you. About the other night.”

Bucky simply sat up straighter on his bed and gave Rogers a tiny grin, “Are you reading too much into something again?” he teased, trying to sound convincing.

Steve had found him out of breath from the pain, on the kitchen floor, and somehow had foreseen that Sam was currently in danger. If it didn’t startle Steve in the slightest, he would have been a terrible agent. Yet when it came to his best friend from childhood, he held an invincible trust towards him; so he wanted to find an explanation, and he wanted to give Bucky the opportunity to give him one, because if there was one thing he was sure about was that something weird was going on.

Therefore, Bucky’s aloofness was met by the infamous Rogers face of disappointment, “Can we talk?” he tilted his head, “On the way there?”

Bucky kept trying to keep his composure as he lied to his best friend.

He shrugged, “I don’t feel like talking about food intoxication on a way to a meeting I’m not needed at.”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

“I don’t work enough. Noted.” Bucky rolled his eyes, already knowing what would come next, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for _that_ lecture, “Goodbye, Steve.”

After a few seconds of silence, Rogers gave up. He pursed his lips and straightened his back, dropping most of his affection and letting seriousness take the wheel.

“Fine, don’t come.” He let out, mildly upset, “But can we talk? Later?”

Barnes didn’t reply, and that was enough of a reply. Met by silence, the Captain nodded and turned on his heels to walk away. He had places to be, but nothing could remove the cloud above his head telling him Bucky was keeping important information to himself. He knew when Buck wasn’t alright, which only raised his suspicions even more. Silence.

-

The former agent had set something short of a routine: he would avoid everyone during the day, barely socialize in order to get lunch or breakfast, and at night, he would stay up late, go to the training room and at some point he would eat. Stepping into the kitchen at a time when everyone else were probably asleep, he headed for the fridge to get his usual night snack.

As he grabbed a glass from the top shelf and filled it with water, his mind was all over the place; he thought about Sam and how perhaps he should have been more present towards his healing process. He thought about how his bones didn’t hurt anymore, so hopefully Sam’s didn’t either. He wondered if he could have been of use, but the idea of being near the man when he knew what he knew made his stomach churn.

Lost in his laments, he was less than careless and knocked over the glass of water, which shattered all over the floor. Thankfully, no one would hear the blaring sound from their rooms, but he feared he had another problem when he realized he had stepped on a piece of glass. There was an acute but small ache in his sole, which meant there was an acute but small ache in Sam’s foot as well.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He cursed under his breath as he frantically looked for something to clean it up.

Blood tainted the low puddle of water on the tiles. If someone linked the broken glass to Bucky, there was an even bigger chance of Sam linking all the dots together. He bent down to get all the pieces together and get rid of the evidence while his chest filled with panic. It was just a small cut, the tiniest glass stuck into his foot, how could something so insignificant mean so much?

Bucky’s throat stung with tears. He was unable to battle his own need to cry, but after a whole five seconds of gasping for air, he stopped himself. He pressed his lips together and cleaned the wet cheek and eyes, before resuming his task with a deep breath.

Sam wouldn’t find out about the glass; he had actually slept through the incident for the sting wasn’t bad enough to wake him. However Barnes didn’t know that. Which was the reason why his heavy feelings made him go extra hard training that night.

He punched the bag as hard as his worries fueled him, and he sweated, and he frowned, and he pushed himself to the limit without taking notice of it, and eventually, he pushed his flesh hand as far as he pushed his metal one.

And he cracked his wrist.

Sam jolted awake with a piercing pain on his right wrist and hand. He massaged it for a minute as the sleep left his eyes, and then he walked to his bathroom in order to run cold water over the injury. Hopefully, that would ease the pain. Or hopefully, his soulmate would stop doing whatever was putting them in pain’s way so often.

-

Sam wasn’t like Bucky when it came to the common room; the veteran showed up there very often, and he never avoided Barnes. Especially now that he had been prevented from going to missions and was discharged from meetings for a week, he looked forward to getting some company. Bucky was always at the tower.

But through Sam’s recovery, the soldier was nowhere to be seen. Now that he was mostly cured, Bucky was still very reserved, and if Sam had been able to admit it to himself, he would have said that it made him sad not to see him on schedule for their routine mockery.

The morning after his wrist woke him up, though, instead of cheerily entering the room, he stormed in. Natasha and Steve were sitting at the coffee table, drinking from colorful mugs when the scene broke down.

"Okay.” Sam said loudly, “I don't know who my soulmate is but-"

Natasha almost choked on her drink, "Sorry, your _what_?" she opened her eyes wide, placing the mug down.

She looked for answers in Steve’s face, who shrugged it off like she should have been aware of this new information.

“Yeah, we talked about this, catch up." Rogers made a gesture for Sam to continue.

Romanoff simply raised her eyebrow and accommodated to the conversation as Wilson took a deep breath and completed his sentence.

"-but I hate this!” he took out his anger on stern hand gestures and a ranting-appropriate tone, “They're _dumb_. They get hurt, like, _all the time_."

The redhead gave him a sympathetic look, but behind it, she was doing a true effort to hold back her laughter. On his part, Steve was actually happy for his friend, and after being informed of every small injury that Sam had felt, he could only smile and hear him protest.

"What was it now?" he asked, almost like a proud parent.

"My hand, they wrecked it!" Sam lifted the hand in question.

Natasha frowned, "Wait, so... are they close?"

"It hurt like hell, so I bet they gotta be!" Wilson placed his left hand on his hip and looked away in exasperation.

"How close?" Steve asked.

Sam shook his head, "I don't know..."

It was at that very exact and precious moment that a new arrival interrupted the scene.

Bucky walked in and didn’t make eye contact with any of them, even though all three’s eyes darted towards him. Especially, towards the white colored fabric on Bucky’s hand. It seemed like Steve, Natasha and Sam all squinted at the same time trying to decipher what their eyes couldn’t help but link: on Bucky’s wrist was a set of bandages.

Suddenly, the room went impossibly quieter. Not even a hitch of breath was heard, which made Bucky a little uncomfortable, and realize he was being observed. He stopped on his tracks and tried to non-suspiciously hide the bandages, but it was of no use. Concealing it wasn’t an option anymore.

Sam’s eyes went wide as the thought hit him. Meanwhile, the other two spectators were already running full equations in their heads, for they did not believing their eyes. Bucky’s eyes met Sam’s, and the feeling of being judged and exposed by Sam’s dilated pupils caused him to slide his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie.

"Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me." Sam finally let out.

All that Barnes did was swallow hard.

"You?" Sam practically barked.

He seemed so bothered at the idea of being Bucky’s soulmate that the latter had to try and deny it.

The brunette blinked fast, "I don't-" He stopped and cleared his throat, "The hell you talking about?"

Wilson pointed a finger to the pocket where the bandaged hand was hiding, "That, I _felt_ it."

After receiving no reply nor reaction whatsoever, Sam began getting a picture of the situation; he stood there frozen and found himself even a little offended.

" _You knew?"_

Bucky shook his head, then stepped back, "I-"

"Bucky." Steve’s voice broke the interaction, trying to get him to _not be a dick_ and offer Sam an explanation.

The ex-assassin rejected the possibility. If he could convince them that it wasn’t happening, perhaps he could pretend that it wasn’t happening for a few more days.

He took a breath and put on a straight face, "I don't know what you're talking about." he simply stated.

It came to Wilson’s attention that the man in front of him was employing the same kind of uninterested, and therefore condescending tone he used when they had discussed the topic of soulmates. It felt like he was being played.

"What? You're saying you didn't break your hand last night?” Sam began attacking Barnes more firmly, now fully angry at the situation, “’Cause I've been feeling _your hands_."

He meant both the torn wrist and the aching knuckles. Now it made sense. Now he figured out that Bucky trained at night, which is why he never joined him or Steve at their workouts.

"Wilson.” Bucky lowered his chin, attempting to be convincing, “Stop it, you're wrong."

"Am I, now?"

Barnes took a look around and found every stare burning a hole on his head. He was beginning to think there was no escaping the truth.

"Yeah, man, leave me alone.” He insisted, “It's all in your head."

Sam raised his eyebrows, far beyond the question if he was feeling offended or not. "Now I'm crazy."

"Yeah, I know you're obsessed with soulmates or whatever.” As soon as the harsh defense came out of Bucky’s mouth, he reflected on taking it back, but he reckoned he was in too deep now, “But I ain't it." He assured the man.

That was the bottom line of Samuel Wilson’s patience. It was bad enough that he felt stupid for not knowing his soulmate was right there all along, but to top it with the fact he hadn’t told him and had kept the secret for God know how long, and now he was denying it to his face, that had Sam feeling more than upset. He felt betrayed. He felt like he hadn’t received his opportunity of processing it, nor the option of denial. Instead, he had to deal with the realization _and_ with the idiot in front of him.

Snapping, the veteran walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer from the inside. Everyone in the room watched as they thought he would leave and drink his anger away, but instead he held the bottle, held a defiant eye contact with his recently-found soulmate, and broke the glass item against the counter.

The shattering sound was even rougher than the one Bucky’s glass of water had made last night, and it provoked all three spectators to jump in shock.

“What-?” Natasha let out in concern.

Before they knew it, Wilson was holding a piece of broken glass on top of his extended palm, threatening to cut his own flesh. He had seen a desperate soul at the park where he jogged pull a stunt like that one before, hoping to find their true love that way. Sam had thought that stranger was impulsive and deranged, and now he was doing the exact same thing. he was staring right into the face of his soulmate, and still, he was a desperate soul.

"Sam-" Bucky started as he feared for Sam’s next step.

"You're telling me you won't feel this?” Wilson tried to get under his skin, make him react, “I do this, you won't feel it?"

Before he could even think about slicing his palm open with the sharp item, Steve rushed and took it away from his friend, "Sam, calm down." He begged, dropping the glass to the floor.

Yet Sam didn’t pay attention to Steve, "No, tell me!" He stretched his neck to see Bucky past Steve’s intercepting body.

"Shut up." Bucky mumbled, looking away.

There was no way for him to process the petrifying event taking place outside the kitchen area. He couldn’t say it out loud, he couldn’t say he was sorry for lying, he couldn’t even deny their reality anymore.

"How long have you known?" Wilson continued, less frantic this time, but Rogers still stood in front of him and stopped him from doing anything stupid.

Bucky clenched his jaw, “Stop it.” He said just as low as his last line.

“How long, Barnes?”

" _Shut up!_ " He finally shouted, coated in such despair that his voice came out with every bit of emotion he had been holding back.

The room went absolutely quiet after that. Steve moved out of the way in order to face Bucky, but also since Sam had frozen his body after that scream, and there was no use of a bodyguard anymore. With everyone expecting to hear Bucky’s next words, including himself, he cleared his mind and spoke from the heart.

"I know since your mission." He confessed before walking away and disappearing into the hallway.

Somehow, the most appalled person in the room was Natasha; while the two men stared at the floor in defeat, Romanoff looked like she had just witnessed an episode of a television drama in real life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this is originally posted on tumblr: asgardianthot


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: one short mention of suicide

"Bucky, stop!" Wanda shouted.

She did her best to ignore the flying items of clothing that were being thrown with no specific aiming, and instead was directing her stern look towards Barnes. The soldier’s room was a current mess, with its inhabitant grabbing everything from inside his closet and throwing it out in the most dramatic manner possible, to the floor, to his bed, it didn’t really matter as long as his message was clear: he was packing up. There was an open travel bag over at the corner, waiting to be filled so that the man could flee.

Wanda seemed more concerned than shocked at the news. Sure, finding out _those two_ were soulmates wasn’t anything she had expected to happen anytime soon, but there would be time to digest that later. Right now, Bucky was either making a scene or going mental, or probably both, so she focused on getting him to stop.

"This is insane.” She scolded him, disappointment clear on her tone, “Nat, tell him."

When the Maximoff girl turned to ask for backup from Natasha, the latter showed no real aid whatsoever: she was holding back laughter, still at awe from the reason behind the disturbs, which was _Barnes and Wilson were soulmates_ , and it for some reason was the most ironic, hilarious and tragicomic thing she had ever heard of.

"It-" the redhead tried to support Wanda, but failed as her contained chuckle escaped her lips, and she had to cover her smile with her hand; she quickly nodded, attempting to get rid of the smug look on her face, "It is, it's crazy."

Maximoff looked at her like she was the biggest disappointment in the room at the time. If there was something she didn’t need right now was unhelpfulness.

She turned to the man in question, "What are you trying to accomplish?"

"I'll just move out!” he yelled back, sounding like not even _he_ trusted his own plan, “It'll go away!"

"No it won't, and you know it!" the witch pleaded, growing more and more exasperated.

"No, I don't.” Bucky stopped his actions to shrug dramatically, “You don't know it, nobody really knows how this thing works."

Eventually, Romanoff swallowed her giggles and decided to step in in more seriousness.

"Wanda's right.” She tilted her head, sympathetic, “You're just gonna have to face it."

Barnes didn’t care to dignify the intervention with an answer. He easily shook his head and grabbed the travel bag from the corner. A loud sigh was heard coming from Wanda, who stood there rather defeated and crossing her arms. Looking around, she frowned at the amount of clothes and garbage that lied all over the floor and didn’t seem to bother Bucky in the slightest.

"Have you always been this messy?” She judged him, taking her anger out on that unimportant detail, “You were a _fugitive_."

Barnes faced her and replied in ridiculous anger, "I got messier, it's one of the perks of not being on the run!"

Wanda went along with their deaf debate and proceeded to scold him about it, so that he would at least stop moving for a few seconds.

"You're running away _as we speak_!" Maximoff threw her hand in the air.

-

"Don't."

Steve hadn’t produced a single word since Barnes had abandoned the common room, followed by Natasha. The zone had remained static, only disrupted by Sam’s slow walk to the couch, where he slouched with lost eyes. Steve stood in the same spot he had been standing for the last ten minutes, both in absolute silence until Sam phrased the negation.

Rogers raised an eyebrow. "I didn't-"

"You're thinking it." Sam cut him off in annoyance.

The blonde was left to open his mouth only to shut it closed again. Both resumed their processing. Steve, even if not one of the actors of the situation, was finding himself at a mental bifurcation. Both of his best friends, the ones he had attempted to turn best friends to each other and failed multiple times, were bound. And none of them seemed too happy about it.

After minutes of more silence, it appeared as if something clicked inside of Sam’s brain.

“Fuck.” He let out, then stared at the ceiling with a sarcastic smile that was anything but happy.

He shook his head and stood up, headed to his room, and rarely to be seen again.

In fact, he began avoiding the rest of the team quite successfully. He picked up every small, individual mission or debriefing, and made sure to spend as much time away from the kitchen as possible. Tony asked him what was going on at the tower that had everybody so tense, when Sam met him at Stark Industries.

Back at SHIELD headquarters, an unexpected visit surprised him on labor hours. He was dropping some paperwork at an empty office where Maria Hill was supposed to be, and as he turned to the open door, his eyes clashed against a figure standing in his way.

“Look who’s still alive.” Natasha smiled, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms.

Sam was left to do less than nod. He merely acknowledged her presence and didn’t deny his disappearance for the last days, “Just taking some time.” He let out with detachment, “I think I earned it."

He was referring to the injury he had suffered on the job. Samuel Wilson was never one to cut schedules or skip work; as a matter of fact, he was the first one to openly judge and poke fun at whoever showed themselves lazy when it came to avenging. That whoever being, very often, Bucky. Usually, and he hadn’t failed to prove it, not even getting his ass kicked would be enough for Sam to take any sort of injury leave. However, this time, even with his ribs and shoulder healed, he decided to pretend like he hadn’t been working as much. Of course, he simply had managed to get work done without alerting the nosy –and preoccupied- team members nor Barnes of his whereabouts.

“As long as you need.” Romanoff did her best to support him and let him know he wasn’t being judged nor reprimanded for shutting out, “We just miss you ‘s all.”

A small, appreciative smile popped up on Wilson’s face, which was enough for Natasha. All she wanted was to make sure Sam was alive and well, after all. _And_ to report to Steve that Sam was alive and well. Seconds of awkward silence passed until Natasha uncrossed her arms and took one step forward, in order to attain some sort of intimacy.

“You okay?” she asked endearingly.

“Yep.” Sam popped his lips, failing to sound very convincing.

Another wave of quiet hit the office. Now that Natasha had reached out, perhaps he could get some information from the other side. Asking the former double-agent seemed fitting.

“Is-?” he tried to formulate the question, yet fell short of words.

Noticing his struggling, Natasha raised an eyebrow, “You’re asking me if James is alright?” she managed to assume, which earned her a hesitant head tilt from her coworker; the redhead couldn’t conceal an amused grin, “I wouldn’t know. You’re so good at avoiding each other, we don’t see _any_ of you anymore.”

However, Wilson didn’t appear as amused. Instead, the spy’s response only made him remember how deeply bad he felt about this whole thing. He wanted to talk to Bucky. He wanted to clear things out, even if Sam himself didn’t know what _clear_ was at that point, but he figured they could decipher it together. For some unknown reason, Sam felt drawn to being in Bucky’s presence. He would often find himself pursuing said presence, without even realizing how willingly. And especially now, he felt the need to confront the man. Maybe he was used to his company, or maybe it was something else. Maybe it had to do with the bond.

“Something on your mind?” Natasha drew him away from his thoughts, yet quickly realized how both oblivious and redundant that sounded, “Besides the obvious.” She tilted her head to the side with sympathy.

Sam thought hard about that one. Yes, there were a million things on his mind at that very second, but he lacked the energy and courage to build an entire therapy session right there and then. The amount of things he could get off his chest would take him hours to go through, probably. Still, there was one specific detail that he considered to be a good start in his process; hopefully, communicating it to someone –with that someone being interested enough to ask– would help.

So he leaned on the desk and sighed, preparing to tell the story as he stared down to his dressing shoes.

"Remember when we were taking down SHIELD... back in the warehouse where they kept Fury." Once he pushed through the opening sentence, he stared up to check on Natasha’s attention.

She nodded, a frown planted on her face, and went back to crossing her arms over her chest. Sam knew she didn’t mean to look unapproachable but was simply attempting to understand him fully. Therefore, he took another breath and continued.

"We had just fought... _him_."

Sam meant the Winter Soldier. Natasha knew that Sam meant the Winter Soldier. Everyone knew that Sam never referred to the man under brainwash as Bucky, because he knew that that wasn’t Bucky. Bucky was innocent and protective and grumpy and _good_ and Bucky would regret joining the army if it wasn’t for Steve and Bucky had nightmares about everything he did during the war and while under Hydra. The man that all three heroes had fought back in 2014 wasn’t Bucky.

"Yeah." Natasha nodded, allowing him to keep talking.

"Hydra got him at that point, right? And I can't imagine what they did to him, but... back in that warehouse, I started feeling this horrible pain.” He described the scene squinting his eyes. “Like my brain was set on fire."

"You didn't say anything." Romanoff recalled with curiosity.

He shrugged, "You had a gun wound, a headache wasn't exactly a priority to anyone at the moment." He received an understanding look from Natasha, thus agreeing with his better judgement. "Besides, it wasn't the first time."

Another concerning look plastered itself on the woman’s features, “What do you mean?”

Suddenly, Wilson began regretting opening up in the first place, “Nothing.” He shook his head, but quickly regained the strength to at least finish the story, “Just… that soulmate bond? I felt it way back. Before Barnes and I met.”

-

Nobody had knocked on Sam’s door all afternoon, and still, there was a piece of paper that had been clearly slid under it. Whoever had dropped it off didn’t want to face him, which gave him an idea of who that was. He sighed, already emotionally drained from his talk with Natasha, one that had become much longer than anticipated, and bent his back to pick it up from the floor.

Once in his hands, he noticed it was a note. And in it, although there was no signature nor name, an apology he easily trailed back to Bucky.

_"I'm sorry for coming at you like that._

_I don't think you're obsessed with soulmates._

_And you're definitely not crazy._

_That would be me, actually."_

-

The former assassin continued to try and find a way out of the situation, and exclusively, a way out that wouldn’t hurt Sam. That was all he cared about, really: not dragging a good and kind man into his mess.

He often locked himself with distracting activities, but lately, he had become much more proactive in not avoiding reality. First, he had slid an apology note under Sam’s door. Now, he needed to come up with a solution.

Googling about soulmate research and crazy theories, he stumbled upon a website, a help group for people who felt their soulmate's bond when it was too late: people who felt the injury that killed their unknown significant-other-to-be. The first testimony was already dark and unnecessarily informative: a woman narrated the sensation of sliced wrists on her untouched skin.

Bucky felt the mix of sadness and frustration revolting his guts, and he shut the laptop closed with a groan. Not only did the thought of people suffering such unjust fates regarding their love-lives disgust him, but it also killed his hope of an escape. If the whole thing could be so cruel to simple human beings, then maybe his bond to Sam _was_ a sick joke.

He decided to walk up to Wilson’s room complex, and this time, he did knock on the door.

The man’s voice was heard from inside, "Come in."

For some reason, the sound of his voice hit Bucky in the stomach. He hadn’t heard him in a while, which wasn’t usual for them, but still, this wasn’t like the other times they had spent time apart. This time, they knew about this weird, unknown and unspoken bond. It could mean that the other had feelings for them, or it could mean they themselves felt things and didn’t even know it.

It was confusing as it was, and now hearing Sam’s voice made it all much more dizzying.

Nevertheless, Bucky gathered up some strength and opened the door. Sam was sitting on his desk, working on a laptop. It looked like he had been taking a little break, by the look of his relaxed body leaned on the chair and the mug of coffee on his hands.

As soon as Sam recognized the person walking into his room, he stood up and abandoned the mug on top of his desk.

"Did you read my note?" Barnes broke the ice.

Sam nodded, suddenly forgetting what to do with one’s hands, "Yeah."

Bucky replied with a similar nod. The quiet tension surrounding them was too much to ignore, so Bucky simply slid his hands inside the back pocket of his jeans and shut his eyes, preparing for the conversation they were about to have.

"I don't-“ He sighed, still not opening his eyes, and went straight to the point. “I can't be your soulmate."

Sam raised his eyebrows and pretended the sentence didn’t hurt, "Gee, thanks." He mocked.

"You know we can't." Bucky reiterated in all seriousness when he met Sam’s gaze.

Unfortunately, both men meant completely different things. On his part, Wilson had processed the bond as something tricky, because they hadn’t been best friends in the past. For some time they even believed to dislike each other.

"Yeah, took me by surprise as well. But I doubt there's much we can do about it." The veteran shrugged, doing his best to conceal how unwanted the chat was making him feel.

Bucky scratched his forehead with nervousness, "If I just... go away." He began, and before Sam could interrupt the presentation of his dumb idea, he raised his palm in somewhat desperation, "Just, hear me out.” he pleaded, “I leave. For good. And eventually you can find someone else."

"That's not-"

"Not how it works, I've heard that.” Bucky spat with frustration, “But what about people who skip the rules? The ones who never have a soulmate. Or the ones who swear they've had two in a lifetime, that's...” the soldier had to stop and breathe after such a declaration, “…we can skip the rules."

After making sure that Barnes was done explaining his brilliant plan, Sam stepped in.

"Sounds awfully romantic for a plan to avoid romance." He said sarcastically.

Bucky knew that behind the jokes, Sam had actually listened and therefore was considering the offer. He let the thought sit in for a few more minutes, but as Sam failed to say anything, which consequentially meant he wasn’t agreeing, the brunette continued to try and convince him.

"I just... it ain't me.” He shook his head, “That's not fair."

Eventually, Wilson started to follow Bucky’s trail of thought. It suddenly didn’t sound like the problem were Bucky’s feelings for him, but Bucky’s feelings about himself.

He frowned. “What, for me?"

Barnes stared at him like he had expected him to understand that ages ago.

"Yeah, you know...” He said now with less confidence, “I'm _Barnes_. I'm pretty sure this is the universe punishing you for something."

The former assassin had a rapid intrusive thought about how he didn’t use to believe in bigger purposes, and now that he was part of one, any divine reason behind a soulmate bond could potentially make sense to him.

"Unless you got a dark past we haven't heard about, you don't deserve this." He finally added, making sure they were on the same page.

The full picture finally kicked into Sam’s brain, "Is that why you think I don't like this situation? _Your baggage?_ "

On his part, Bucky kept thinking that he was in the right, so he figured Sam wouldn’t have the nicest opinion on the matter, "Just forget it, okay? I'm telling you I can be out here by tomorrow.” He insisted, avoiding the subject of his baggage, “Just don't tell Steve or he'll try to convince-"

"Do you think-“ Sam cut him off, raising his voice, “Do you think I don't want you as my soulmate because you used to be the Winter Soldier?"

By then, it was Bucky who felt a little in the dark, "I mean..."

"No! It's because you're annoying as hell!” Sam snapped, his disbelief becoming anger, “And this is the perfect example. You didn't even let me face you, you jumped- no, _sprinted_ to conclusions, and can't even hold a proper conversation without trash-talking over me."

The fact that Sam actually wanted to give the bond a try got through Bucky’s thick skull after weeks of denying the possibility of it. And it should have made him joyful, to know that Sam didn’t view him like some sad obligation or cruel punishment. He wanted to be happy about it, but receiving a scolding from Wilson never failed to offend him. It _was_ sort of their dynamic.

Bucky’s shocked expression turned into a tantrum-like one, "Oh, like you're so amazing yourself!"

"Trust me, I _am_ amazing.” Sam flaunted himself with a big accusatory hint in his tone, “I'm over here trying to discuss things, despite you being emotionally unavailable.”

Barnes wanted to comeback, to interrupt Sam with a winning argument, but there was none. He hadn’t given any situation a try; not talking to Sam when he found out in the first place, not communicating their mindsets, not listening. He found himself at a loss of words, his mouth gaping and closing again.

Sam continued to get hyped up in the worse way possible, “You keep saying how you'll leave the tower forever, meanwhile I'm-"

Bucky’s loss of words turned into a raging wave of bravery. The knot in his stomach made him feel impulsive, and the sensation that just _trying_ would solve everything pushed him to do the unthinkable.

He interrupted not with an insult, but with a kiss. He took two large leaps in order to close the gap between them, grabbed Sam’s face by each side and collided their lips roughly. The messy mouth crashing against his took Sam by surprise, but he easily gave in, which not only allowed Bucky to continue, but also to tidy the contact. They became gentle, their lips mending with each other like fitting puzzle pieces, and instantly moving in synchrony.

The hands that were holding Sam’s face lowered to the back of his neck, which Bucky held sweetly with his flesh thumb running up and down his nape. It only took Sam half a second to react and hold Bucky’s waist, dragging him close until their chests were impossibly together. They could both feel the other’s heartbeats thumping and decreasing their rapid rate as they reacted to each other’s caresses.

Nothing could have prepared them for how right it felt to have their heads spinning, stomach churning, warmth setting a home inside their ribcages.

As soon as one of them ended the contact and their wet lips were feeling cold without the other, both pairs of wide eyes met in shock.

"Oh." Sam let out.

The onomatopoeia not only let Bucky know that Sam wasn’t expecting the chemistry either, but also that the chemistry had been just as explosive for Sam as well. The brunette stepped back, losing his grip on Sam’s shoulders and losing Sam’s grip on his own waist.

"Yeah." He let out with a breath, agreeing.

Sam copied Barnes and stepped back as well, allowing some distance between them while they let what they had just felt sink in.

A frown took over Sam’s eyebrows, "I still kinda hate you, though."

Bucky let a small chuckle escape, "God, this is so stupid." He said before engaging in a penetrant stareoff, which he lost; he glanced at the door and ran one hand down his face, "I'm gonna go. _Not_ walking away from a discussion, just... leaving it at that." He defended himself although he wasn’t being accused of anything.

Still, the second that he stepped out the door and into the hallway, Sam spoke in hopes of being heard by the long gone figure.

"That's the definition of walking out."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a lil angst, Bucky being sad :(

The melodic beep that announced opening of elevator doors was immediately followed by the thud of boots on the floor. Both Wanda and Bucky were walking rather fast, in direction to the parked quinjet. An alarm had set off all around the tower, informing the Avengers of an important mission that required speed and immediate action, so the pair had seen themselves forced to end a heart-to-heart conversation in order to work for a living.

Wanda had accompanied the soldier as he changed into fighting gear, mainly to make sure he wouldn’t bail on the team. She knew Bucky would do anything to avoid Sam at the moment, for that was his instinct, no matter how many times Sam stated that wasn’t what he wanted. So Maximoff had stood inside Bucky’s room while he complained and ranted and groaned, more focused on words than on sliding the black cargo pants up his legs.

As soon as the cool air of the heliport hit Bucky’s face, he stopped in his tracks.

“I can’t go.” He said loud enough to be heard.

The young woman turned to face him with an expression of utter disbelief.

“Bucky.” She let out, beginning to prepare a reprimand; they had just agreed that something like that was exactly what he wasn’t going to do, “What are you talking about?”

However, he looked a little frozen, and sounded like it too, considering he didn’t even respond to the question. It wasn’t necessary, though, for Wanda knew exactly what was going on, and therefore she walked back to him, less upset, to grab Bucky’s hand softly.

“You can’t just not go.” She reminded him in a much sweeter, but still stern tone, “We need you. This is your job. You can do this.”

The reassuring words helped Bucky swallow and nod. Yet, the knot in his stomach wasn’t going away.

“What if-?”

“What if you kiss on the quinjet?” Wanda interrupted him, causing him to give her a death glare; she simply rolled her eyes, “On the way to a mission.” She continued mocking him, shaking her head, “I doubt it.”

“Wanda-“

“You don’t even have to talk. Just do your job. Get out of the tower.” The last push turned into a rather helpful observation, since Bucky didn’t actually go out much, especially the last few weeks; perhaps a good ole’ mission would be optimal, “Come on, you can sit with me and hold my hand.” She went back to a joking and mildly patronizing tone.

The second the both of them took their seats next to each other, the last man walked inside the quinjet. With the wings-backpack and all, Sam made an appearance right before the doors shut. Bucky took in his image as he looked up from fastening his seat belt.

“All set.” Natasha announced from the driver’s seat.

There was a powerful staring contest going down between Bucky and Sam, which ultimately made Wanda extremely uncomfortable, whereas Steve pretended he didn’t even notice. It felt as if observing something they weren’t supposed to.

-

During the actual mission, though, the question of how uncomfortable it would be to fight alongside each other. As soon as they broke into that subterranean warehouse, the team was welcomed by shooting hostiles. It took their full concentration to take them out, but the only way in which they were outgunned was literally. Talent and stamina-wise, on the contrary, this could have just been a regular Tuesday night.

Unfortunately, the easiness and triumph met an end in Sam’s case, as a sharp and painful feeling pressured his arm. He moaned out in pain, believing to have been shot, but as he glanced down, there was no sign of harm. In fact, it didn’t feel like a bullet had entered his skin, at all, but rather as if it was bounced off.

His mind went to the first explanation, "Barnes, you okay?" he spoke through the earcomm.

Expecting to hear a lamenting response, he was surprised to receive a perfectly normal voice tone.

"Yeah, why?" Bucky answered nonchalantly.

Thus, he glanced back down at his arm. Along with reflecting on the fact it had felt like a bullet had bounced off his skin, as if his skin was made of unbreakable material, he also processed which arm hurt. It was his left arm. The metal arm.

He shouldn’t even be feeling it.

Before he could keep thinking about it, another shot of pain hit him. Another imaginary bullet.

"Agh!” He yelled and managed to reach his earpiece, “Stop, I can feel it, the arm, I feel it!"

There was a short pause before the exclamation made any sort of sense to Bucky.

"Your left arm?" he confirmed with confusion.

Sam snapped like the brunette had taken minutes to reply, "Yes, stop doing what you're doing!"

Nevertheless, the physical shock that came with trying to cope with this new information distracted Barnes, to the extent where he stopped being alert towards the hostiles. He had already stopped two bullets with his bionic arm, and the next one could come at any second, yet the realization that Sam might even sense the metallic limb in the slightest had him frozen, a big question mark all over his face.

The sudden distraction made it possible for a hostile to come charging at him, a fist fight imminent, and before he could foresee it, Barnes was falling over the rails of a stairway. That was when his body, once again, proceeded in the only way he had been taught: he reached out with the most powerful piece of armory he had, his left arm, grabbed a hold of the rail and held his entire weight on the rail, effectively and painfully avoiding a fall.

This third time, Sam wasn't capable of keeping his focus. The tear in his shoulder caused him to lose his flight, and so he went into protection mode, wrapping himself in his big metal wings, which eased his body when it collided on the concrete floor.

On his part, the brunette was safe on the ground, where he elbowed a man in the face in order to appropriate his shotgun. With a few last shots, the floor in which they stood was clear or hostiles, and the entrance to the building, clear.

"We're going in." Steve dictated through the communicators.

Sam groaned as he tried to collect himself from the ground, "Coming." He managed to croak out.

Unfortunately, his efforts were met by a good ole' Captain Rogers scolding, "No, you and Bucky figure whatever you have to figure out." He said seriously.

"What?" Barnes pressed his fingers to his ears so to be heard, and convey his offense.

"You're distracted and distracting the team." Rogers shot back as he and the two women ran towards the building, "You're not helping. Stay back."

The remaining pair was left to their silence, one that lasted a few seconds. The bond wasn't their fault, but he was right about the fact that a team couldn't sustain itself with two members of it constantly avoiding each other. The bickering, they could stand, but the amount of tension and quiet coming from them both lately was damaging to entire operations.

Bucky reached where Sam was taking advantage of being ditched to catch his breath. The former spy offered him a hand, but Wilson declined by ignoring him and sitting up all by himself.

"I didn't know you could feel this arm." The veteran said in a tone that wasn't easy to decipher.

His face still contorted a little bit with the feeling of beaten muscles.

"Do you feel it?" he asked as if he was being personally attacked by the fact, and then watched as Barnes bit the inside of his cheek. "It's sentient. Like, that- that sentient." He was met by a shameful nod, "And you still use it as a shield? Are you insane? You didn't even complain."

Eventually, Bucky swallowed the guilt and just shrugged, "'s how I was trained."

"But it hurts." Sam raised his voice, still in disbelief.

"What do you want me to say?" he replied in a way that they both knew an argument was coming their way, "I can treat it as something other than a weapon, but at the end of the day, when I'm being shot at, that's what it is. A weapon."

Instead of being distant, though, Bucky offered his hand again. This time, Sam took it and stood up on his feet with the man's help.

He let out a frustrated puff of air.

"See? This is the kind of shit I'm talking about." The Falcon shook his head and proceeded to elevate the tone of the conversation, "You give zero fucks about your well-being! And that means you give zero fucks about mine! Do I just gotta accept that you're a masochist?"

Bucky frowned with anger like a tantrum child, "I'm not!"

"You fight like one!"

"Well, it's all I know!" His voice roared through the entire warehouse and echoed as he unloaded all bottled up feelings in one sentence; It brought sepulchral silence between them, until he spoke through his frown, "It's how they _trained_ me."

As a matter of fact, Bucky didn't remember what it felt like to not be like that. He couldn't remember his old self. He remembered the past Steve, his family, his relationships with others, among many other things that could fill up a personality, but he couldn't remember what it felt like to be Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, chippy sport. That wasn't coded into his system. The instinct of using his own body as a weapon was.

Consequentially, Sam felt like crap.

And he would have been open about it and apologized immediately if it hadn't been for the shooters. The click of guns made them snap back into the situation, and once again, Bucky was about to demonstrate that same instinct they were discussing, up close, by raising his arm to shield the bullets, but Sam turned his wings as a barrier and protected both of them. No need for Bucky to use his arm as a shield. Inside the little cocoon of metal wings, Barnes looked at Sam.

"I got ya." Sam panted, and by you, Barnes knew he meant us.

The veteran glanced at the gun in Bucky's hand, to which the latter was proactive enough to get it ready and fire at the incomers with incredible speed.

-

After that mission, Bucky wasn't really speaking to anyone. He had showed himself adamant even to a chat with Wanda. After all, during the altercation with Sam, he had been accused of fair things.

Luckily, it didn't stop Sam from trying. He knocked on Bucky's door the next day.

"Can I come in?" he spoke loudly from behind the wall.

"I'm busy," was heard from inside the room in a monotone.

Wilson simply nodded to himself, defeated. He turned around, fully intending to accept Bucky's isolation, but in a matter of seconds, he decided to push a little bit. He opened the door, only to find a pair of puffy eyes. Bucky's face was wet and partially swollen. He was crying.

He stared at the man standing in front of his door and thought about what he wished he had the strength to say out loud.

_Hug me, you moron, come and hold me._

Yet he knew, unfortunately, that even if Sam could feel every bump and wound on his skin, he couldn't feel the ache in his chest. It didn't work that way.

So he sniffed and faked an embarrassed, amused face. A fake one.

"Told you I was busy." He joked.

Wilson swallowed hard and glanced down with guilt, "Sorry. I'll come back later."

As he left and shut the door behind him, he sensed his own chest hurt. It didn't feel right to see Bucky like that.

On his part, Barnes crawled under his sheets and shut his eyes, wishing he could sleep forever.

When he woke up from his depression nap, there was a chair notoriously standing in front of his bed, where a box of donuts had been deposited. The brunette rubbed the sleep of his eyes before abandoning his bed to open the cardboard box, and finding a note inside of it:

_"I'm sorry for yelling. You make me wanna yell sometimes, but it's not your fault. You're not a masochist, and this isn't unfair for me. It never was. I really don't want you to go. Take your time and when you're ready, come talk to me. In the meantime, the donuts will keep coming."_

Bucky allowed a smile to take over his face before stuffing his face with the sugary treats.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky felt the hot water relax his muscles under the shower. He thought to himself that he should be more than relaxed, having locked himself in his bedroom complex for the past day, lying in bed, yet he continued to be tense all the time. His snacks would eventually run out, and he would have to abandon his voluntarily chosen prison confinement and step into the kitchen in order to get provisions. Surely, he had to respond to Sam’s note. That was what Bucky wanted to do, it was simply a matter of bringing himself to actually doing it.

As soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his hair into his nape and shoulders, he glanced at the door, wishing that Sam had left yet another note for him.

Fortunately for Bucky’s fantasizing spirit, he found a second pink box of donuts, along with a piece of paper resting on top of it. The brunette didn’t even try to refrain himself from smiling. He eagerly went for the box and felt his stomach flutter with the idea of Sam sneaking inside his room while he showered, just to leave another present. He sat on the edge of his bed, placed the treats on his lap and wasted no time before reading the note.

_‘There is also lunch at the other end of the door. Can’t eat donuts forever.’_

The embarrassing teenage flush that took over Bucky’s face was of no concern for him. All alone in his room, he could enjoy the happiness that Samuel Wilson brought to him; he didn’t feel selfish for enjoying the bond, because nobody was watching. That was what Bucky thought people would think: he didn’t deserve Sam. Right at the bottom of the piece of paper, the last words written seemed like they were a last minute choice. They weren’t as meticulously executed as the first two sentences.

_‘I know this whole 'bonding for life' thing is pretty scary, but how about we forget all about it and just see where it goes?’_

The happy knot inside Bucky’s stomach became more twisted. As if someone had pulled on the string of an actual rope knot. He remembered that it was more complicated than just treats and kind words. Although he opened the door to retrieve the tray of food Sam had left –and chuckled to himself after realizing the fitness psycho had made him a salad–, the avenger rejected the idea of walking to his soulmate’s door. Instead, he watched TV all day while devouring everything he had been gifted; the entire box of donuts included.

When night came, Barnes sneaked outside of the tower and went to the nearest pharmacy, then walked back home.

-

Sam opened his door and tripped on something. He stared down to realize there was a red plastic box on the floor, with a note taped to the lid, just like his own presents for Bucky. He opened it first, and understood the gift was a first aid kit, filled with nothing but a bottle of painkillers. Frowning, he opened the letter.

_‘The donuts worked while I took my time. Hope this works while I learn a **sense of self-preservation.** ’_

A big, laughing smile instantly rose to Sam’s cheeks.

-

The next box of donuts didn't go with a note. It was just plain ol' spoiling. Although Sam did overthink if maybe he should have put a note on it. He cracked his head open about it while preparing himself a cup of coffee in the common kitchen. Eventually, and hopefully, his doubt was appeased when he sensed he wasn’t alone in the room anymore.

"Hey." He heard the much needed familiar voice.

Sam turned to see Bucky standing there, with a fresh face plastered on, like he had woken up from a restoring nap, and with his hair in a bun. Sam didn’t say hi back, but darted his eyes to the donut package on his soulmate’s hand; the one he had just deposited on Bucky’s doorstep.

"Wanna share these?” Barnes offered with a small and shy grin, gesturing to the boxed snacks, “I might be getting fat."

Wilson had the biggest smile in his heart, yet kept a somewhat straight face, "Yeah, I bet." He followed along.

There was hearable hesitation coming from Bucky, but after a big inhale, he spoke with seriousness.

"I... wanna talk.”

Sam nodded. He sensed how uncomfortable Bucky seemed, how terrified he was of whatever Sam might think of him, of whatever might come up in that conversation. But he was doing the effort, he had even approached Sam by himself. So, content and rather stoked, Wilson closed the distance between them, took the carton box from Bucky’s hands and placed it in the counter next to him, losing eye contact.

His hand reached behind Bucky's ears, to which the latter shut his eyes and placed his hands on Sam's hips. They met in a sweet kiss, which soon deepened and turned more demanding; Sam’s thumb ran up and down the spot where Bucky’s hairline began. Breaking for air, the pair pressed their foreheads together.

"We could eat first." Sam said.

Barnes let out a small, involuntary smile and agreed with his head.

They had coffee and donuts, sitting in the couch, while they filled the silence with small remarks about the short time they had lost. Things like Steve’s mood, how delicious the first pack of donuts had been, and jokes on Sam’s salad-making were the peak of their nervous talk. Eventually, however, the chat ceased, the treats disappeared, and Bucky’s head ended up resting in Sam’s lap, with the latter’s fingers running through his hair.

"I know about the headaches." Barnes pushed out with difficulty.

Sam was forced to stop what he was doing. He wasn’t expecting the subject to be known by Bucky, and much less to be brought up now. He continued brushing the brown locks as if he hadn’t been shocked, three seconds later.

“Can’t trust Nat with a secret.” He mocked lightly.

“Well… she told Wanda.” Barnes corrected his suspicious, staring into the wall while Sam burned a hole through the back of his head, “ _Wanda_ can’t be trusted with a secret.”

"We don't have to talk about it." Wilson brushed it off.

He wanted to let Bucky off the hook. He knew how much guilt he carried from what Hydra made him do, plus now from the bond. To mix those two traumas together must have been a truly horrific reveal. He thought perhaps Wanda shouldn’t have told him, as his friend, but then again Wanda was all about truth and transparency. She was probably unable to keep the secret from Bucky because of how much she cared for him. If Sam hadn’t wanted Bucky to find out, then he shouldn’t have told Natasha in the first place.

He sensed Bucky’s breathing becoming more hectic than before, before he heard him speak.

"I'm sorry." He croaked out.

All that Sam could do was sigh, "Wasn't your fault."

"I still don't get it... how come you felt that? I mean, we've spent so long in this tower and just now we've..."

Bucky didn’t have the proper words, but Sam understood what he meant. The bond started months after they had been living in the same compound. Even without that in consideration, it still made no sense that Sam had felt the connection right after meeting for the first time, and then never again.

"I don't know." He answered truthfully.

After a full minute of pure silence, which meant heavy thinking in both brains, Bucky’s chest started shaking and Sam realized he was trying to hold back from crying. His own heart breaking, he ran his hand down the man’s back, trying to soothe him.

“When…?” Bucky hiccupped, then stopped to swallow hard before asking the real question much more decisively, “What other times-?”

“Don’t do that.” Sam cut him off.

There was no use in knowing such information, other than hurting Bucky’s feelings even more, aggravating his already heavy guilt.

“Did they hurt you?” the former assassin insisted, “When you were a kid, or…?”

“Hey, I’m serious.” Sam raised his voice this time, “Don’t.”

Bucky ran the back of his hand through his nose, cleaning himself, and nodded.

“Okay.” He breathed in and cooled off as he blinked the last tears away, “But, uhm… the arm.” He cleared his throat and began speaking as if he hadn’t just been sobbing intensively, “What do we do about the arm? It’s gonna take me a while to, you know, get used to it. The bond.”

The threat of the bond was clear, not to mention imminent. It couldn’t be easy to maintain it in their line of work, and the last thing Bucky wanted was to hurt Sam while he accustomed to having pain linked to someone else.

Sam returned to tenderly toying with his soulmate’s hair, “We got a lot to figure out.”

-

The only other close person they knew to have a soulmate was no other than the owner of the tower, who didn’t live there, but instead in his own home with said soulmate. Tony Stark didn’t talk about it much, because he didn’t want the skeptical judgement that came along with such a statement, however Wanda told Bucky _and_ Sam, at one point or another. While discussing it, both of them realized she _really_ couldn’t be trusted with a secret.

So the pair found themselves going into Stark’s Industries HQ and being led to the man’s office, hoping to find some answers, or maybe even help in their situation.

Tony came in a bit later, while Sam and Bucky sat awkwardly in front of his desk.

“Sorry about the wait.” Tony apologized, then sat behind his desk and rested intertwined hands on top of it, waiting for some sort of Avenger-related meeting, “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

Bucky shifted in his chair, then glanced at Sam, as if asking him to take the lead. The latter cleared his throat and spoke.

“We have a, uhm… situation.”

Stark gave him a curious look, not fully understanding the tone of the meeting. He was both concerned and confused.

“Everything okay?” he frowned lightly.

Sam shrugged it off, “Yeah, no, it’s- it’s not really work related.” He struggled.

“It’s not work related.” Bucky stepped in with more seriousness.

“It’s personal.” Sam nodded.

Tony’s frown went away once the worry that something might be off at the Tower, or that there might have been fires to put out, but he remained passively waiting. He gave a look that allowed Sam to resume his speech.

“You’re the only person we know that… has a soulmate.”

As soon as the words left Wilson’s mouth, Tony’s eyebrows were raised exaggeratedly. Shocked would have probably been an understatement, but he managed to conceal it as best as possible. After all, nobody really took in the news too smoothly; nobody expected the two of them to be together.

“We know. Some news they are.” Sam let out a big breath, and Tony sat back with an amused grin, “We have some questions. We’d really appreciate it if you could give us some answers.”

After narrowing his eyes and examining the men in front of him, Tony kept all comments to himself and nodded, “Go ahead.”

The couple exchanged a nervous glance, and so, Sam continued to speak for both of them.

“Well, about the actual bond…”

The short silence was interrupted by a hurried question, “Can we control it?” he blurted out, gaining two stares directly at him, “Can we do _anything_ about it? To, you know, not hurt the other person.”

The billionaire reflected on it, and suddenly it became very clear why the meeting was so urgent. Barnes was a victim of violence who feared his own; the sole fact of having a metal arm must have made the bond difficult already. Unfortunately, Tony didn’t have the magical cure that Bucky came looking for.

“As far as I know, there’s no controlling it.” He explained.

“What about Pepper?” Bucky insisted, partially confused but mostly desperate, “You put on the Iron suit, she feels every bump and bruise?”

Tony shook his head, “Not anymore.”

The couple seemed even more confused than a minute ago. Which is why Stark was willing to give them proper information; he returned to leaning on the table to get their full attention.

“I worried about that.” Tony began, “Her pain. Both physical and emotional, you know, the whole living with… well, _me_. I was trying really hard to understand that, to get inside her brain, so that I could protect her. And then one day, it just stopped.”

“How?” Sam asked genuinely.

Tony pursed his lips, unable to provide the pair the concrete guidance that they had probably expected, “I don’t know. No one does. You just wing it. And one day you bump your head on the fridge, and you yell ‘sorry’, and they ask ‘sorry for what?’.”

“She doesn’t feel it anymore?” Bucky intercepted, making sure he understood correctly.

“Not at all. At first we thought we weren’t _meant_ for each other anymore. We thought that’s what it was, that there was no bond anymore. That maybe we’d done something wrong. But, that… made no sense.” There was a hint of a smile throughout Tony’s speech, not only out of love for Pepper, but also like a wise man speaks while reflecting on his long journey of learning, “We’re soulmates. It’s been years since that happened, and the bond is still strong.”

“The bond?” Bucky shook his head, “But, you said-“

“The real bond.” Stark stared directly at him this time, “After I got over the pain and the paralyzing fear.”

They finally got the idea, which was of an emotional bond. Perhaps there was no need to feel each other’s pain.

“There’s no manual for this.” Tony shrugged, although sounding as sure as he had ever been about anything, “No one knows for sure, there are no codes. You can find guidance or believe in rumors, but at the end of the day, it’s your bond. Or, your _feelings_. Whatever you believe in, your… your soul, your brain, your upbringings. All yours to figure out together.”

In analyze, the newly received information gave away one thing for sure: soulmates were like plunging into cold water. Sam and Bucky had barely just set one foot inside the pool, and therefore were scared, regretful, and experiencing the cold in the worst possible way. On the other side of the desk was the living proof that it wasn’t meant to be that way. Tony and Pepper had plunged inside, and were over the cold. They were swimming, hand in hand, keeping the other from drowning.

“So you just wing it?” Sam repeated Tony’s words.

The appellee gave him a half smile, “Yeah. Just like you wing everything else, but now you get to wing it together. If there’s anything I can tell you for sure is, soul-bonding is terrifying, but… life’s a lot less scary with them by your side.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> domesticity:) and angst:(

"You're doing great, Barnes." Sam congratulated the man, encouraging him to keep going.

Bucky breathed hard through his nose, controlling his breath as he punched the bag down in the training area. While he worked on his punches, Sam monitored his improvements in the caution department.

The whole idea was for Bucky to be able to control his own strength when using his hands, so that he learned not to get himself hurt. Ergo, so that Sam wouldn't get hurt. Hydra had taught him to hit targets, not to care for himself while doing so. Whereas any trained soldier would land on their feet neatly and placing their weight on their toes, Bucky was told to land. At all costs. No matter if he wrecked his bones in the process. Thus, whereas Sam punched his targets in a way that wouldn't break his knuckles, balancing his strength, Bucky wasn't as preoccupied. He didn't mind the occasional sting, and if he got himself hurt, he healed pretty fast. Of course, that was before the bond.

Suddenly, Bucky began punching a bit rougher and Sam felt the familiar tingling on his knuckles, numbing his articulations a little.

"Easy." He warned Bucky.

The latter stopped with a grunt and dropped both arms to his sides.

"Sorry." He panted slightly.

"No, that was good." Sam made sure not to forget focusing on the positive advances, "You're getting a hold of this."

Barnes didn't nod, but he didn't seem to be negating the stated fact, either. Instead, he looked like he was considering it while he fetched his water bottle. He gulped down a quarter of it in one go, never losing eye contact with Sam, and panted out in exhaustion when he got rid of the bottle.

"You're not saying it out of pity?" he verified, tentatively.

Sam merely rolled his eyes.

"I don't pity you." He reminded Bucky, "And you really are learning this pretty fast."

The appellee reflected on the partial compliment for a second, and then his face grew a small smile.

"Great." He finally agreed, still working on steadying his breaths, "That means you're not getting hurt."

While Bucky didn't have anything meaningful to say or add, he couldn't look away from the man that had been couching him the past hour. He thought about how hard the adapting process would be and for how long, but having him right there and being able to appreciate the goodness that Sam irradiated, he thought about how much harder it would be _not_ being Sam's partner.

"What?" Wilson eventually felt too observed.

Bucky wanted to say something cheesy. Desperately wanted to pamper Sam somehow, but he opted for closing the gap between them. He took one step closer until their bodies pressed slightly, and put a hand on Sam's waist.

"This okay?" he checked.

The smile that Sam bore was almost unnoticeable, but Bucky did catch it.

"Yeah." Sam breathed out.

As Bucky planted his own lips on his and pushed a wet kiss into them, Sam's insides swelled and churned in the best possible way. Be it through the excessive effort Barnes was putting into controlling the bond, or through that tiny kind gesture, Bucky conveyed how much he cared. And Sam had never felt so cared for before, or at least, not like that. Bucky was different. He was the kind of man who would swear to you his undying loyalty by getting back on his own two feet _for you_.

When their lips parted, Sam took a hold of the metal hand in his, "Told you we could do this." He said with pride.

His words alluded the arm control and the strength balance, but he also meant the bond. And somehow, he was referring to the _love_ part, also.

"Sorry I ever doubted it." Bucky smirked up at him.

-

The common room seemed to have come back to normality, finally. Seeing how nobody was avoiding anyone anymore, the heroes managed to eat breakfast while sharing the same space, and coexist like they used to.

In fact, the couple looked more comfortable than ever, plopped on the couch and watching TV. Bucky rested his body against Sam’s, while the latter wrapped one arm around him, occasionally running his fingers through his hair. Behind them and having their breakfast on the table, were Wanda and Steve.

“You guys are disgusting.” Wanda joked, disapproving the entire couch scene with her expression.

“You’re so jealous.” Bucky replied, not even dignifying her with a look, “Pass the remote?”

“Come get it.” The young woman scoffed.

Bucky twisted his neck as much as he could in his current position, only to give her an offended grimace, “Come on!”

“You can’t get away from Sam for half a second? Is that it?” she teased.

“I don’t wanna get up.”

“Neither do I. Come get your remote.”

Finally, Sam interjected with annoyance, “ _I’ll_ get the remote.”

As he stood up and abandoned the embrace, Bucky groaned at the lack of support and dramatically let his body fall lopsided on the cushions.

“That’s exactly what I was avoiding.” He complained.

“That you were too comfortable?” Wanda narrowed her eyes in a mocking manner, “Just say it, lover boy.”

During the whole interaction, Steve had been hiding behind his morning paper– _some habits die hard_. Eventually, he had to at least acknowledge the childish playfulness filling the room. It was so refreshing, yet so different, coming from Bucky and Sam _as a couple_. The idea was still settling in the back of Steve’s mind, but he couldn’t deny it somehow felt right. Too right, like they were a couple the entire time and he just hadn’t noticed, with all the bickering and taunting.

Nevertheless, Steve laughed, “This will be easy getting used to.” He admitted, still focused on his paper.

“What’s gotten into you?” Bucky accused Wanda, even though he knew she was just messing with him.

“I’ve never seen you like this, it’s weird.” She explained, a disgusted look on her face, “I’m starting to think I want you to go back to your glum and glimmy self.”

“Not if I’m here.” Sam negated the possibility, sitting back on the couch, but not half as snugged and sunk as before.

The young woman cringed even harder at the sound of that, “ _Ew.”_

Steve rose his sight to give Wanda an amused look, only for his eyes to be hyper-aware of the person walking in. Natasha stepped through the doors with a work tablet in hand and a preoccupied, vague expression.

Steve was the first to notice, “What is it?” he asked her in that very leader-ish tone that characterized him.

The redhead breathed, almost pacing, “I got a tip for a next mission. Looks pretty clean.”

Sam knew when Natasha was worried. It wasn’t hard to miss, but it also seemed like it wasn’t an urgent, life or death matter, thus he simply gave her a push so that she could explain the matter as quick as possible.

“And?”

The woman directed her eyes to Bucky, then at Sam, and she talked to the latter, exclusively. In fact, as she spoke, not even once did she take her eyes an inch away from Sam’s.

“It’s a Hydra base.” She set the information loose, ripped the Band-Aid off, “One of the last ones.”

Sam tensed up immediately, whereas, as attentive as he was to the smallest shift in Bucky’s breathing, he didn’t feel him tense up.

“Let me go see it.” Wilson stood up, meaning they should talk about it far away from the common room.

“Yeah, that’s probably better.” Nat agreed.

Ten seconds went by after the pair left the room, and the room was still immersed in sepulchral silence. When the sound of their heels died down in the distance, Steve stood up, not saying a word, and followed behind.

Bucky raised his eyebrows to himself, sourly, “That was smooth.” He said sarcastically.

Wanda felt sorry for his friend, seeing the way the other three had handled the situation, “They just don’t wanna… trigger you, or whatever.” She tried to ease the awkwardness while standing up from her seat.

She plopped down on the couch next to him, rested her head on his shoulder and hugged her legs to her body. She was snugging close to him, almost like trying to fill the void Sam had just left, since she noticed how Bucky had grown accustomed to physical comfort.

“Well, I’m fine.” Bucky replied dryly and with a clear hint of annoyance, “I can deal with it.”

“I know that.” At the lack of reaction, Maximoff lifted her head and frowned up at the man, “ _Hey. I know that._ And I’m sure they… sort of know that, too.”

That uncertainty caused Bucky to snort, for not even the person supposed to be comforting him believed that to be true, “Yeah, well. They already think I’m a ticking time bomb, right?”

As much as Wanda wished to speak the truth, she also didn’t know the answer for sure. Maybe they did expect Bucky to crumble at any moment. Maybe Rhodey or Steve or Tony or even Natasha didn’t see how resilient the man had been, and therefore, were just waiting for him to crack under pressure. She couldn’t _know_.

“I don’t think Sam believes that.” She said honestly, for that’s really all she had, “I think he trusts your mind as much as I do, which is a lot.”

But Bucky didn’t seem convinced. _Can’t convince someone of something you’re not sure about yourself_. So she offered everything she could and held his hand in hers.

“What do we say?” She asked for him to recite the comfort words they had set themselves.

Bucky nodded, agreeing to recite them, because agreeing to verse it meant he _believed_ the words at that exact moment.

“We are not their weapon.” He spoke in that tone which one uses when narrating a memorized passage, “They did not create us.”

“That’s right.”

While Bucky digested the saying, assuredly trusting the meaning of it, Wanda took a big breath. It was never a good time when they had to resort to the mantra, and remembering their gloomy past never brought a smile to their faces. They continued watching TV, pretending to not be thinking about whatever the other heroes were discussing.

-

A full day passed, and Sam still hadn’t received a single opinion nor approach from his soulmate. He assumed he had to _ask_ about the tense subject himself, but the timing was never right, because for the past twenty-four hours, Bucky hadn’t spent more than five minutes with him. Deep in the most concealed parts of his mind, where he was sometimes selfish, Sam felt a little offended. He understood, however, the logical reason behind Bucky’s reservations.

That didn’t mean he didn’t think he should end the secrecy. So Wilson walked inside Bucky’s room, seeing the door wide open, and heard the noise of a human coming from the bathroom. He found Bucky brushing his teeth, and he leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hey.” He spoke rather gently, “Are you avoiding me?"

"I'm brushing my teeth.” Barnes answered like it was nothing, although it was muffled by the toothpaste; he spat the foamy liquid on the sink before talking again, “Didn't think you'd be so clingy."

"I'm serious." Sam lowered his tone.

That caused Bucky to turn serious as well. He rinsed his mouth with water, then cleaned his face with the questionably fresh towel that was laying around.

"Of course I'm not.” He was genuine this time, but he still walked to his room, which made Sam think that he definitely _was_ being avoided before, “What's wrong?"

"They moved the operation.” Sam followed behind, “We gotta head down tomorrow."

"Okay."

"You got nothing to say?” Wilson insisted, earning a simple shrug from his partner, “Buck, come on. I'm just worried, 's all. I don't think you should come."

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I?” Bucky sat on an armchair to put on his shoes.

For all Sam knew, he had caught Bucky during his morning routine, but through his currently paranoid brain, it seemed like the soldier had chosen to do all that stuff to keep himself busy and not having to engage in a heavy heart-to-heart. And Sam simply wished to look Bucky in the eye and get the truth out of him, but he realized that was a little egoist.

By the time Wilson was done with his careful thinking, Bucky had both shoes on and was standing to fulfill another task.

" _Because_." Sam started while Bucky walked past him; he sighed, "Just be honest. If you don't wanna join, no one will blame you."

"Yeah, you will."

The easiness which Bucky spat that out with made Sam frown. Although Bucky looked for something inside his closet, Sam walked closer and held his arm tenderly as a way of asking him to turn around.

"No, we won't." Sam lowered his head, believing the accusation to be as far off as possible.

"You said it yourself, Sam.” Bucky tilted his head, “You think I'm a lazy-ass for not doing shit all day and never showing up to meetings."

The words were harsh. But they weren’t one hundred percent false. Sam took a step back, his head falling down as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He remembered all the times he’d call Bucky those exact things as a joke, before they knew about the bond. Back when their way of interacting consisted of mean teasing and fake disqualifications.

"I'm sorry.” He let out along with a big puff of air, “I never said that for real, though-"

"But you did.” Barnes interrupted him, “ ’Cause it's true."

"No, it's not.” Sam rushed to put both hands on Bucky’s arms, the softest way possible, yet in a desperate attempt to get through Bucky’s thick skull, “You can take all the time you need to get back into superhero gig."

"Back?”

There was a moment of silence, of absolute uncertainty from Sam’s part, before he decided to let go of Bucky’s hold. Clearly, there were many things on his soulmate’s mind that he didn’t know about. And sadly enough, there was no one to blame. It was just how things rolled out to be. Which was why Sam simply waited for Bucky to speak up.

Which he did, in an upset tone, “No, Sam, I… I've never been much of a hero to begin with. That’s _you,_ you were one before the Avengers, saving lives in goddamn Afghanistan. Hell, saving _depressed veteran's_ lives-"

"Watch it." Wilson had to remind him to still be respectful, even if Bucky’s frustration was being directed towards him.

Bucky came to his senses and stopped before taking a breath, "My point is, I'm not you. I was a dumb kid enlisting to shoot some Nazis. Then I was some dumb kid following m'boy Steve to shoot some Nazis. Then I was whatever they made of me."

Wilson shook his head, "You're more than that. You're more than _them_."

"Maybe.” Bucky found himself saying something that contradicted his and Wanda’s mantra, and it shattered his own heart for a second, “Won't find that out unless I start facing them, instead of lying here watching TV all day."

Sam, once again, reached for his partner physically by placing his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, this time his grasp a little more invasive.

"So you wanna prove yourself, _okay_. Do it for you. Not for the team, not for Hydra. Not even for me."

"I have to.” Bucky insisted, raising his voice and drawing disappointed eyebrows on Wilson, “Sam, you're _the_ good guy. I've never been that guy, if I could just...”

When he noticed how hyperventilated he had turned, Bucky cut himself off. Sam waited patiently as the man looked down and shut his eyes.

Bucky started whispering to himself, “We’re not their weapon. They did not create us.”

Sam couldn’t miss it. “What’s that?” he asked cautiously.

When Bucky looked up at him, there was the tiniest bit of fear in his pupils. Now that he thought about it, the action of mumbling to himself, he thought, must have made Sam think he’s crazy. Plus, in Bucky’s mind, Sam already believed him to be a tad unstable, so he began regretting doing it in the first place.

But he kept it together and replied as nonchalant as he could, given the circumstances.

“Just something Wanda and I say. To, you know… remember.” He brushed it off.

Sam wasn’t having none of that minimizing crap. Inside that previously mentioned, recondite place in his brain where he sometimes was selfish, he desired to know Bucky’s every thought. Outside that brain section, he understood why that was not only impossible but also a _foul wish_ , which is why he kept it locked there, in his selfish box; it still didn’t negate the fact that he hoped to understand Bucky as much as Bucky could make himself understood. Balancing all that, Sam didn’t push too far, but kept his tone flat and familiar.

“Remember what?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek for a second before loosening his tense shoulders and responding truthfully, “That we were people before they experimented on us.”

It made sense to Sam in a way that it didn’t; he got the message, but he couldn’t possibly understand how it felt to be neither Wanda nor Bucky. Sam had never been transformed and made into a weapon. His issues with the Army would never compare to being Hydra’s pet, or Strucker’s pet, and it made sense that they would bond over that simple, and at the same time very complex premise: No matter what they did to them or made them do, they were someone to begin with. They changed them, but they do not control this version of them. _They are their own people_.

Sam couldn’t conceal his sad grin, as he thought that the saying, the mutuality of it and the shared experience, was the nicest thing he’d heard, however it was also unbelievably sad that they _needed_ one.

Bucky didn’t appreciate the pitiful look, “This is what I mean, you… you think I’m so goddamn breakable.”

“I think you’re exactly the opposite.” Sam corrected him, “You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. But you can also give yourself a break, you know that? Taking down a Hydra base might be too much.”

Barnes accepted the words, although he didn’t give up his initiative, “I’ll never know if I don’t push myself.” He suddenly turned to Sam’s eyes as if they were some sort of haven, which, in some level they were, “ ‘sides, you’ll be there with me, right?”

“Yes.” Sam pushed the affirmation almost aggressively, not even waiting for Bucky to finish his thought, “Yes, of course.” He forced Bucky into a hug.

Being the tough love kind of guy, Bucky surrendered to the physical gesture and let his head fall on Sam’s shoulder.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second to last :( gonna miss cracking my head with this fic lol never again shall I just wing it without a clear idea of how to end a story.
> 
> Important: Hydra base scene but I won’t depict a tortured Bucky, he doesn’t always have to suffer at the expense of his ex-captors and I’m honestly getting tired of the obscene amount of torture fics out there! Consider this an anti-trigger warning but also a threat? Idk enjoy

The anguish never went away.

Two days later, Bucky found himself knocking on Sam’s door, his heart on his hand.

There was no answer behind the thick walls, but Bucky knew he was there. Somehow, he felt it deep in his bones.

"You okay?" he asked.

The sound was muffled inside Sam’s room, both from the structure separating them and the external sounds that made their way in through the open window. There, Sam rested both hands on the lower frame as he stared outside, more focused on the wind and noise that drowned down his thoughts than the actual view. Bucky’s interruption made him realize he didn’t know for how long he’d stayed in that frozen position.

He slid down the window until it hit its frame, "Yeah, why?” he lied nonchalantly.

His mind was racing. As time passed and brought the team closer to the Hydra raid, Sam worried for Bucky. Not that he wasn’t prepared or that he was being reckless, because he knew that wasn’t the case. What had him worrying was the idea of Hydra potentially targeting Bucky. Although Natasha had assured him a million times that there was absolutely no chances that this was a trap, Sam’s mind couldn’t help but wander around horrible ‘what if’s, ones that compromised his soulmate because Hydra’s finest assassin had escaped them, so they were likely to want revenge on the man. Maybe even try to get him back under their grasp. And if Sam was deprived from the option of saving him, he wouldn’t know how to live anymore.

Bucky’s answer, however, got his head out of the dark cloud.

"I don't know. I feel weird." Barnes mumbled from across the door, loud enough to be heard though.

The last three words alone were enough to bring Sam towards the closed door. Bucky _felt him_. He felt weird, and wondered if Sam was alright, and he went to check up on him. As soon as he faced the mildly pouty lip, the big brown eyes, the badly concealed worried frown, he wished for nothing else than to kiss that pout away.

Which he did very aggressively. Sam brought his body against Bucky’s, he cupped the brunette’s face by his raspy cheeks and crashed their lips together. He didn’t wait for Bucky’s tongue to dance with his, he made it. When they stopped to regain their breaths, and the make out was over, Bucky looked confused, but in the best way possible.

He caught his breath with an amused look, "Okay."

Sam wanted to laugh with him, address his flourishing emotions, but his worry was far greater. So he showed the man inside and gestures to follow him. They both sat at the end of Sam’s bed.

“Yeah, there’s something wrong.” Sam admitted.

Barnes’ tone became sterner and more precautious, “What?”

Wilson held his hand before speaking.

"Tony said there's no rules or anything.” He reminded the latter of their informative chat with Stark, “But he _did_ make it seem like there was some sort of... I don't know, some sort of progression.”

"What do you mean?"

Sam inclined his head like he was pushing himself to say the next thing out loud, "You've been really nervous lately."

Bucky didn’t flinch, yet he wasn’t comfortable either. The idea of Sam knowing that, finding out that he wasn’t as relaxed about the raid as he wished to play it out, was a quick disappointment.

"Guess you could say that." He looked away.

"I _know_ that.” Sam emphasized the word while at the same time lowering his volume to attain a more intimate tone, “I don't think I should be able to."

Bucky simply shrugged.

"Why can I tell when you're anxious?” He had to insist on his concern. “How come you do too? It doesn't make any sense. Unless..."

"Hey.” The soldier stopped him, already knowing what scenario Sam was forming inside his head, “There's no step back here.”

Given Bucky’s certainty was convincing, and he was becoming aware of the fact that he was overthinking, Sam still couldn’t shake off the sour feeling of approaching danger.

“You’re supposed to be the sane one here, Sammy.” Bucky laughed, which brought a warm feeling deep in Sam’s chest because of the employed nickname, “We're okay. It doesn't have to mean anything, remember?"

That was enough for Sam’s heart rate to drop considerably. Bucky managed to calm him like that.

"Thank you.” Sam said genuinely.

Nevertheless, Bucky could read him. Hell, he could feel his dark feelings not shifting away. So he went into the gray zone he didn’t think he would be approaching anytime soon.

“Is it because of Riley?” he dared to bring up the subject.

Sam was more than taken aback, but he blinked to dissimulate. They had only ever talked about Riley once before, in another heart-to-heart, and it had brought tears to Sam’s eyes. Bucky knew everything, their friendship that was always something more, the love declarations left unsaid, the part where they saved each other’s asses in Afghanistan. Riley was the reason why Sam trusted the universe to be kind, even without a soulmate. He was the reason Sam told everyone you can love without a bond, because that memory was all that was left of the dead man.

“What do you mean?” he let the words out minimally.

“Are you afraid to lose me like you lost him?”

Sam shook his head, rejecting the mere thought of comparing the two men, almost desperately. There were open wounds that he hadn’t had the courage to heal yet. He cleared his throat and tried to shrug it off.

“He, uhm… He didn’t have that crazy serum of yours.” Sam faked an absent mind, although he failed, “You’re not the same.”

Bucky could see right through him.

“Exactly, I’m not Riley.” He grabbed Sam’s chin endearingly. “I heal fast, and you’ll feel me the entire time, and I get that you’re scared, but so am I. It’s why we got each other, right?”

Sam’s vision became less blurry when his soaked eyes dropped a single tear each. They rolled down his cheeks and were wiped away by Bucky’s thumb.

“I promise you won’t lose me.” He ensured his soulmate, who allowed himself to be held and rocked until he felt like talking again.

-

“Everyone on comms?” Steve’s voice barged into everyone’s earpieces.

As soon as the five other voices replied, Rogers gave them the orders required to execute the raid perfectly.

The first two floors would be empty, according to their lead, for they mainly consisted of dirty storage units meant to distract anyone from even getting close to finding the real base. So, those floors were their entrance and their escape, if ever needed. Hopefully, they would imprison everyone, realistically speaking, a few would be taken out in the process, perhaps killed. Whatever may come out of the raid, Steve Rogers had a whole alphabet of backup plans.

First off, they had to disperse. Steve and Rhodey walked upstairs as silently as possible, reaching the third floor in minutes. Meanwhile, Bucky and Natasha moved forward and explored the premises with their guards up. Romanoff’s excuse to pair with him was that they both had experience with these kind of organizations, although they everyone was rather aware of the fact that she was keeping an eye on the man Sam was worried about. Bucky ignored the reason behind it, and made no comment as the pair was left behind by Sam and Wanda, who walked upstairs.

When the first line of Avengers broke down the door in one swift blow, shield and blasters up with anticipation, they found the entire floor empty. After a confused glance between Rhodes and Rogers, they lurked around every single corner and behind every single door. Nothing.

“This wing is clear.” Rhodey said through his earpiece.

Although it didn’t seem to upset the rest of the team half as much, Sam was experiencing his fair share of anxiety. He looked up to the ceiling, as if he could burn a whole straight through and peak at the floor in question.

“Where are they?” He whispered to himself.

A minute later, Steve sent another command, “I need guns on the front line.”

Barnes rolled his eyes in mocking of his best friend.

“Nobody talks like that, Stevie.” He taunted him.

Yet Steve didn’t appreciate the joke, for he was far too tense. His eyes moved around frantically, looking for a possible trap, which his paranoia was leading to.

“Guns first.” He repeated himself clearly, “Something feels off.”

But nobody got there. Before Bucky or Natasha could even reach the stairs, a set of loud noises surrounded them. In every floor, metal doors fell from the ceiling, blocking exits and doors. These doors weren’t too intense, but their tech hadn’t picked up on them, which meant they were expected. Every Avenger found themselves trapped in their respective zones. As for Barnes and Romanoff, they were too apart from each other to even see the other’s face.

So, deep in his fear, Bucky raised his gun and checked every wall his sight could reach, almost waiting to be attacked. If Natasha was completely honest, she would have bet Bucky was a target, as well. That is what everyone’s minds went to, especially Sam’s. Luckily, he had the company of Wanda right next to him to feel calmer.

"Everyone okay?" Rhodes checked.

Sam and Wanda replied with their status and whereabouts, but after a lack of response from the other two, the man confirmed their status on his wrist screen, only to see that Barnes and Romanoff were off-line. He figured they must’ve been trapped downstairs.

"We gotta move fast.” Steve ordered, keeping his Captain-like calm, “Try to get to the control panels, if not, evacuate. They know we're here."

Wanda and Sam. Walking slowly. Careful. Not many places to hide, but there must be a way out.

“He’s okay.” Wanda let Sam know.

They walked side by side, as slowly as possible. There weren’t many places to hide nor another entrance that they knew of, on the second floor, yet they remained precautious.

“What?” Sam let out without paying much attention.

“I’m saying, he can take care of himself.”

Once Sam understood that Wanda was playing the best friend card in letting him know she knew Bucky to be strong, he realized he probably looked too worried.

He fought back his frown. “I know that. I’m just…”

“Anxious?”

“We’re trapped in an underground intelligence base,” He sighed loudly, “shouldn’t I be?”

The statement earned an acknowledging nod from Wanda, who waited a few more seconds to press his earpiece and reach the Captain.

“Steve? You think it’s okay if I tear down a wall?” She asked for permission to jump into action.

“No.” Steve denied her dryly, “Bucky and Nat are on their own, we won’t engage until they’re safe.”

The young woman shut her eyes with annoyance, “Okay, Steve? You’re not helping Sam stay calm.”

She received no further comments. Everyone felt too powerless after all. No comments.

Down in the bottom storage, the place began to look more like a maze. It was a mess of similar, dusty hallways and old, closed doors. Natasha tried each and every single one of them, but they were useless, and she figured they wouldn’t get her anywhere, anyway. It might as well have been an underground cellblock.

“Barnes, give me a sign.” She asked for a second time.

Bucky indulged her, complying with her attempts at finding each other. Together meant safer.

He thought hard about his whereabouts, “East wing’s on my… left side.”

“I can’t get through to anyone else.” Romanoff finally said what seemed obvious to both of them.

The soldier couldn’t help but take a deep, calming breath, for it was a much needed one. He gripped his gun harder, trying to ease himself.

“Me neither.” His mouth spoke in disconnection with his brain, which was submerged in paranoia by now.

Natasha could sense that.

“We’re okay.” She did her best at calming him realistically, as she looked around for a way to find him, “You said east wing? I think I got you, Barnes.”

Suddenly, a gunshot was clearly heard, making Natasha turn around in a haze, only to find herself alone, and realize that the shot came from afar.

“ _Crap._ ” Bucky groaned, his communicator still on.

After the sound of three other guns and what appeared to be Bucky’s rapid machinegun, the woman panicked.

“Talk to me.” She ordered him.

"I got hostiles!" Barnes screamed over the noise of his own weapon.

As soon as Natasha realized she could hear where the attack came from, she followed the echo, running. Eventually, the sound drowned out.

“Bucky?” she asked, fear crippling through her.

There was no reply but the sound of Bucky panting. She managed to find a grilled gate, which she shot and kicked open easily, all the while her mind raced to the worst case scenario. _Sam had trusted her with his soulmate’s life._

Finally, she hit the scene: two dead bodies on the floor, both hostiles. _The soulmate’s life was still intact._

“Good, you’re alive.” She breathed out, pretending she wasn’t just losing her mind mere seconds ago.

Nevertheless, she quickly noticed that Bucky’s panting was linked to whatever made him hold his ribs so painfully. Then, Bucky removed his flesh hand from that zone in order to look at it, revealing to both of them that the hand was covered in blood. As terrified as Natasha was, her expression couldn’t match Bucky’s.

"You’re shot." She stated with wide eyes.

Bucky swallowed hard, "We have to find Sam." He said roughly.

As Romanoff processed Bucky’s fear, the latter looked around for an out in desperation. He was worried that Sam was hurt. _Sam_ , who _couldn’t_ bleed out from a soul bond wound, while Bucky had his fingers pressed against a pool of red.

"He'll live.” Natasha approached him carefully, “You, on the other hand..."

Barnes shook his head. "Sam _first_."

-

Wanda was known to save the day without too much effort. Turns out, the Hydra base was covered in desperate traps because they were too vulnerable to withstand a raid. Therefore, the witch tore down the metal walls and flew up to help Rhodey and Steve, who didn’t need too much aid as it was. Sam stayed down, fully aware that the other three were probably kicking ass, and still worrying. He ran downstairs as soon as the blockade was taken care of, in need of finding Bucky safe and sound, even if he knew that he was.

And he knew he was okay, because Sam himself hadn’t felt a single sting. Not a gunshot, not a bruise, not even a scratch.

So, if Sam felt untouched, then Bucky must be.

Finally, he heard the pair, and found them at the bottom of the stairs. He jogged the last few steps and noticed that Bucky was holding himself up against the wall, limping. The latter looked up with big, concerned eyes.

"You okay?" He asked Sam.

That was when Sam saw the bloody hand pressed against his soulmate’s chest. Natasha was helping him stay on his own two feet, while Bucky examined Sam’s body like his own life depended on it. Technically, that was the whole deal. Wilson pushed his own hand against Bucky’s and frowned.

" _Did you get shot?"_ he shouted in despair, his eyes as big and afraid as ever.

"I'm sorry. I tried-" Bucky tried, but cut himself off with a grunt of pain.

"Buck." Sam grabbed his torso.

"Let's go home." Bucky begged.

"Yes. We will.” Sam’s tone became serious and authoritarian, “ _Sit down."_

"I'm fine."

"He's losing a lot of blood." Natasha confirmed Samuel’s suspicions.

In between the frantic commands and worrisome looks, Bucky couldn’t help but notice Sam’s lack of discomfort. Almost like he _hadn’t_ felt a gunshot in his chest a few minutes ago.

He frowned with confusion, "Why are you-?"

"I didn't feel it.” Sam shrugged it off, way more focused on the open wound, “Sit down. _Bucky_."

"What do you mean-?"

"I didn't. Bucky!” Sam grabbed the face of the stubborn, hurt man with his free hand, smearing blood all over his cheek, and yelled to his face. “ _James_! Listen! There was _no bond_. Right now, that's not important. You're bleeding out."

"They didn't hurt you?" Bucky seemed to finally understand.

“No!”

The new information hit Bucky like a soft, warm wave of tranquility. If Sam wasn’t hurt, if Hydra hadn’t hurt Sam, then he didn’t need to worry. He could breathe. And as he breathed, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, along with some heavy dizziness.

"That's good." He mumbled, looking past Sam with lost eyes.

"It is. Now calm the fuck down." Wilson begged, trying to take a good look of the wound.

Bucky nodded, finally compliant, "Okay."

With that last word, Bucky’s eyes rolled back into his skull, and he surrendered to tiredness. He stopped feeling anything other than her very light head, until everything went black.

"Shit.” Sam cursed under his breath, catching him before he hit the ground completely.

He eased his partner’s fall and let the passed out body rest against the wall.

“Give me a hand.” He asked Natasha.

They managed to sit him straight against the wall, in order for Sam to press his hand against the bleeding gunshot. Nat said something over the communicators for the rest of the team, which Sam didn’t fully catch, before she knelt down next to her friend. She examined the wound, then Bucky’s pupils and let out a breath.

“He’s gonna be fine.” She appeased Sam.

“I know.” Sam said without giving it too much of a thought.

The woman gave him a wondering look.

Sam merely shook his head with uncertainty, “I just do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder that this series is originally posted on tumblr: asgardianthot


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky woke up surrounded by a sense of warmth. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Sam’s face, sleeping next to him with pouty lips resting against the back of his hand. he was sleeping on his belly rather adorably, and as Bucky contemplated him with amazement, the events that led them there came back to his mind. The discomfort in his chest made him remember the shot wound he had received from the rogue Hydra agents he had killed. The wound wasn’t anything he hadn’t endured before, physically speaking, so he wasn’t in too much pain.

As much as he could have spent the following minutes focusing on remembering how he found his way back to Sam, Bucky was too hypnotized by the man’s peacefulness. He ran a finger across Sam’s cheekbones, and the latter responded by opening one eye. It took him a few seconds to fully come back to earth, then he ran a hand down his face to rub the sleepiness away.

"Hey." Sam mumbled.

"Tell me I didn't just faint.” Bucky pleaded jokingly, yet found a confirming smirk on Sam’s face and let out a defeated groan, “God, that's embarrassing."

Sam propped himself up on his elbows and lied back against the bedframe in order to accommodate the both of them. He helped Bucky ease into his torso, handling him with extreme care until the brunette head rested on Sam’s chest.

"Your adrenaline wore out when you found out I was okay.” Sam explained with deep fondness, dropping a kiss to his head, “You moron."

Bucky recalled the events. Sam was so worried, while he was so confused as to why the wound hadn’t affected Sam.

"Told you I healed fast." Bucky flaunted with a bit of a smug.

Sam smiled, "That, you did."

"What about-?"

"Nat's taking care of it.” he interrupted his partner before he could struggle to find the words, “Aside from you, it went pretty well.”

As a matter of fact, a lot of the agents they tracked down had gotten away, but the team gathered a bunch of information and arrested many people willing to rat each other out. Just as predicted, Hydra wasn’t what it used to be; they were barely surviving, so, _cut off one head_ and the guy watching will desert to save his own. Sam, on his part, was usually more of a merciful man, and he didn’t enjoy the hero talk, nor the morality of the gig. He didn’t pretend to have all the answers. But when it came to Hydra, it was a lot more personal. He became more relentless. Therefore, after seeing the organization who broke Bucky for seventy years shoot him, he wished for nothing but pain and jail for them. He hoped, deep in his bones, that every agent in that base got what they deserved.

However, right there in bed, with Bucky safe and sound, and in his arms, he was able to let go of that hatred. Because nothing mattered more than Bucky at that very moment. He forgot all about the raid, and the information procedures Natasha was supervising, and he just held Bucky.

"No one's ever cared so much about me, Buck." He admitted.

What Sam couldn’t go past was the fact that Bucky was _dying_ , and still the only thing he cared about was Sam’s ghost pain.

"They should." Bucky stated easily.

"I mean… I'm usually the one taking bullets."

"My point exactly.” Bucky raised his voice a bit, and crooked his neck so he could look up at Sam’s face with seriousness, “I want you _safe_. I know you can take care of yourself a whole lot better than I do, but... If I gotta take another bullet, it'd be for you. And I'd be praying you didn't feel it."

Sam couldn’t even fight back. If Bucky was willing to put himself out there for him, then Sam couldn’t stop him. After all, partners take bullets for each other, and they were so much more than just partners. Perhaps, one day ago, Sam would have rejected the idea. He would have told Bucky he was being senseless and reckless, but now, he understood. He would do anything for Bucky, too. This time, all he thought about was how immensely lucky he was for having Bucky in his life.

"You know I love you, right?" Sam asked like he was deeply worried that Barnes might not know.

Bucky smiled up at him playfully, "You're my soulmate."

"Yeah, but _besides_.” Sam continued, giving Barnes love-eyes, “I think I'd have fallen for you even without the bond."

Bucky reveled in how pretty that sounded, and contemplated the thought.

"Yeah, me too.” He concluded.

The injured man stretched up his body to plant a kiss onto Wilson’s lips, yet the second they met, he felt the pain in his torso. He winced with discomfort, but also with embarrassment at the realization of what a bad idea that was.

“That was so stupid.” Sam mocked him although there was nothing but sweetness in his tone.

Over all, he was amazed by how much he loved that idiot. Bucky, on his part, laughed at himself and lied back on Sam’s chest.

“Let’s forget I did that.” He proposed after groaning with the movement, “Good thing you can’t feel that anymore.”

“You think it’s for good?” Sam wondered, tiptoeing around the topic that had been just brought up, “Like Tony said, the physical bond’s over?”

Barnes thought long and hard, but he couldn’t come up with any factor that would confirm that theory entirely. He didn’t know why the bond would cease now, of all times; perhaps because they needed it to cease in that base. Perhaps because they truly controlled it all along and just managed to do it willingly. Perhaps it was a random event, or perhaps merely a one-time thing.

“Maybe.” He said truthfully, “I think we got this under control, so whatever happens…”

Sam filled in the silence, “We got this.”

“Yeah.”

-

After the proper amount of time, Bucky’s flesh healed completely, and Sam took the opportunity to incentive him to go outside more. It started out as a midnight walk, a trip to buy donuts –which became a discussion about whether or not that was a date-, and ended as a jog in the park. The latter, however, wasn’t too enjoyable for Bucky, but it got him to love running with Sam, so they agreed on jogging at night every once in a while.

That was the scenario, both of them in sweats and jogging side-to-side throughout the empty bride. It was perfect, having that as a couple, while being away from the public eye for the most part. This time, unfortunately, there was a dreadful surprise on the edge of the bridge.

Usually, Bucky forced himself to ignore the bystanders, hopefully becoming invisible to them, but this specific person came too fast and too strong into the couple’s peripheral vision: they were standing on the high edge, staring down.

It didn’t take a single more second for the heroes to react. When he got closer, Sam stopped on his tracks to avoid startling the jumper, meanwhile Bucky, lacking much social tact, ran towards her decisively.

"Hey, hey, get back down." He commanded her, struggling to conceal his desperation.

He looked up at her and saw a frightened young girl, crying her eyes out as she contemplated her next step. He stretched out his hand to her tentatively, and as much as he wanted to grab her arm and yank her away from the edge, he figured that could possibly make it all worse.

"Don't.” He pleaded, “Don't do it."

All he could think about is that she seemed too young to give up, whatever reason it was that drew her to that decision. She had so many years ahead of her to turn her life around, he found it hard to believe that she would even think about ending it for good.

"Please, just leave." She sobbed, missing eye contact.

"I won't until you get down from there.” Bucky raised his voice to a more stern demand, “If you try to jump, I'll stop you."

The threat brought more sobbing to the girl, who covered her face with her hands and trembled into them.

"Why, cause I got my whole life ahead of me?” she yelled with rage, “My soulmate _died_. She's not getting a second chance at life, I'm not getting a second chance!”

Barnes took a sharp breath and approached her slowly.

"I'm sorry." He expressed genuinely.

The girl looked down at him and for a second, Bucky saw something in her face, like she recognized who he was, but didn’t say anything. She simply shrugged it off and looked down again.

"Why would I live an entire life without a soulmate?" she asked barely above a whisper.

"You don't know that for sure."

"Yes, I do!” she burst once again, “She was the one, now I'm alone forever!"

"No, it doesn't work like that.” Bucky said firmly, finally captivating her silent attention, “The bond... it makes no sense, _at all_. Don't make a choice like- don't make _any_ choice based on that, ‘cause nothing's for sure."

The way he spoke made it sound like his opinion on the bond hadn’t changed from that day before he found out he had a soulmate; he wasn’t a fan, and the technicalities of it never made any more sense to him, not even after going through one himself. His tone, however, convinced the girl a little. She looked behind Bucky and found Sam standing there, keeping his distance from the tense scene, with a cellphone in hand and expectancy written all over his body. He was frozen, and trusting Bucky to be capable of saving her all by himself.

She sniffled and returned her glance to her savior, "How do you know?"

"Cause it didn't make any sense for me either.” He confessed like he was letting go of a weight from his chest, “At any point. And yet, here we are."

The word ‘we’ made her glance at Sam one more time. This time, when Bucky offered his hand, the girl took it, and as she cautiously stepped down from the edge, Bucky shot a quick glance for Sam to make the call. She didn’t need the Avengers, she needed 911 and her parents.

-

She was taking off the blanket the ambulance gave her, when her mother, who ran to hug her hysterically when she showed up, began guiding her to the car. The last thing Sam and Bucky saw of the survivor was a jacket being wrapped over her shoulders and a car door being closed. The pair remained there, sitting on a bench in waits of the girl to be driven home, safely.

"You did really well." Sam spoke finally, the second their job there was done.

Barnes ran a hand down his face, exhaustedly.

"You think so?" he mumbled.

Sam pressed a kiss to his temple, "I think you're ready to be a hero again."

Bucky let out a soft laugh, matching Wilson’s proud smile.

"I didn't know this was on the contract of being an Avenger." Bucky joked.

"It's not. That's why you're _better_ than an Avenger."

The words hit Bucky, and all he could think about is that being an Avenger wasn’t his ultimate goal. His role model wasn’t Steve, nor Wanda, no matter how much he admired them; the person he thrived to be like more than anything was Samuel Wilson.

Before the bond, before everything, any time Sam would come back from his jog at the park with a gloomy face and tell whoever was in the common area that yet another desperate soul had injured themselves in front of him, Barnes would listen. He would see the disappointment in Sam’s eyes when he said he didn’t get to the stranger in time, and Bucky wouldn’t understand why Sam thought avoiding self-inflicted physical harm was more important than calming them down afterwards. Eventually, he understood Sam viewed the talks and advice and comfort as _the least he could do,_ because that was who he was: a sensitive, responsible hero.

"You do these kinds of things all the time.” Bucky remarked, “At the park. You reach to people."

As a matter of fact, Sam had reached _him_. And in the end, Bucky _thrived_ to be like Sam, because in his eyes, Wilson -and not the Falcon- was the biggest hero the world had ever had, and everyone should want to be just a little more like him. But Sam, he believed it had been Bucky who really reached out, in his own unique way.

He sensed the warmth of heart coming from his partner, and his tummy did a small flip.

"You're about to say something real cheesy, aren't you?" he teased Bucky.

The appellee grinned, "Maybe."

As much as Wilson pretended to be too manly for cheesiness, hearing Bucky’s sweetened words awakened something in him he didn’t think he could enjoy. So he nodded, truly expectant for the ‘cheesiness’.

"Go ahead."

Bucky shook his head and looked down at his feet.

"No, I was just thinking... how you're, you know... I wouldn't have done these things without you.” Barnes admitted, a little shameful, but making sure he sounded confident in his declaration, “Taking care o' myself, getting out of the compound... shit, _saving someone_."

Sam took in the compliment, yet humbly as ever.

"You just needed a little push.” He nudged his partner’s shoulder minimally.

"Or a hero.” Bucky corrected him, this time staring right into Sam’s eyes, “For me to look up to."

Somehow, the thought of Barnes seeing him as a role model made Sam crumble. It made him feel so wonderfully loved, because in his eyes, the strongest, most resilient person on earth was still that man sitting next to him. And finally, he internalized the utopic notion of being adored by the person he adored, which he had to force himself to accept as a reality. He was his hero’s hero.

"You and me, both." Sam replied with devoted eyes.

Sitting on that bench, and slowly beginning to cuddle closer to the other as the chilly night air caught up to their bodies, both of them felt the particular adrenaline rush that one feels when contemplating the fragility of one’s heart. Usually, when a heart is so drawn to another, the poor thing hangs by a thread of futile stability; if the other person leaves, said heart would crumble into pieces, and it is precisely that fear that sinks into the intensity of romance. It is what we call being terrified of losing a loved one.

However, moments later, as if they could sense the other’s soul and connect through them, they both settled into a peaceful sensation as they remembered that if all went well, they would be together forever. _That was the whole point, right?_ The mutual understanding. The _bond_. The fact that, even though their flesh was no longer sewed together, they still had each other’s names carved into their bones.

In the end, pain is _still_ such human extravaganza. Nobody does _aching from love, or the lack of it_ , better than humans. The pain parade of romance is something so deeply rooted into the dumbest parts of our brains, that _that_ must be the reason behind soulmates. So, indeed, it _is_ only logical for such a cruel universe to bond love and pain so tightly. But it is also a vital human necessity to turn that pain into something beautiful. Something comfortably joyful. Something _easy_.

Because no matter how difficult loving can be, it is such a human trait to turn that same love into something soothing.

At first it comes like a tingle, a small pinch or even the ghost sensation of a scratch, and hopefully, it transforms into a healing factor. Something like a comforting hug, or a little push. Some needed and given bit of space, a little blind faith, an honest talk, a first-aid kit, or even a box of donuts to replace unspoken words. That is all we have, after all, and it is who we are; comfort, warmth, and human connection. Without it, all we would have left of existence would be pain, and flesh, and bones.


End file.
